Trapped In Wedlock
by soupcon pride
Summary: Their marriage was an accident. Their life, one dramatic roller-coaster ride. What does the future hold for them? What happens when two enemies unite in the most unlikeliest way and go on to set things staight while hating each other. DMHG.
1. A Day For Proposals

**Disclaimer: All identifiable characters from the Harry Potter series belong to J.K.Rowling**.

**Second story in the works. My first effort towards humor. Feel free to leave a review, telling me how you find this fic. My other fic will be updated soon and while you wait for that, read this one and leave your opinion.**

Chapter-1

A Day For Proposals

Today is, what could be called, one of those days when men my age become extremely nervous and sweaty. Well, that is the impression I've developed over the years. However, it is quite impossible for me to even envision a delusional state such as that for myself or any of my male ancestors for that matter. Mother often says that to complete a man's life it is imperative to have a partner, preferably female for me at least, ready to share joy and sorrow, laughter and tears and everything else which escapes my philosophical line of thought at the moment. And it is time for me to invite that particular partner to my life. You see, today is the day I propose a girl to marry me. You heard that right. The most famous, dashing, intelligent, cunning and sexy man to have ever walked on Merlin's not so clean and green world is ready to be snagged at last from the bachelor market. Yes, that's right, I, Draco Malfoy, am going to be married.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Can you believe _that_? Hah, as if. I tell you, if you ever have a chance to choose your parents, _DO NOT_ under any circumstances, choose Narcissa Black Malfoy as your mother. Oh… don't be fooled by her Stuart's All Time Sparkly toothpaste smile. The twitching of her jaw muscles, which was very rare for her in the past, is just an easy trap to lure young, innocent, not to mention extremely good-looking men into her wild schemes. Father could never tame her and in his days of royalty when he tried, she might have flashed her hidden fangs and tamed _him_ instead. Evil, evil woman, why did she have to bear me as her son? Now sitting across from her at the breakfast table, I search helplessly for a source of distraction. Lucius Malfoy, popularly known in this house as my father, has already snatched away the only means to hide from the grinning Cheshire cat-like woman before me. He's reading the _Daily Prophet_. Father never reads the newspaper at the breakfast table and this new habit that he seems to have developed overnight is just annoying the hell out of me. I poke the steaming bacon on my plate dejectedly and try to stop squirming under my mother's penetrating gaze.

"Draco, is something the matter?"

Oh! Did you hear? She is enquiring about my silent musings. Probably cackling in her mind on seeing me as a scared jellyfish. I clear my throat and cut the crap instantly.

"I'm thinking about today evening."

"Oh, how wonderful!!! Are you planning to do it in a restaurant- the contemporary style or is something else on your mind."

Propose in a restaurant? Is this woman insane? Why would I deliberately make a fool of myself in public? Not that I'm a fool…far from it actually. You see, we Malfoys have style and have been trendsetters for generations. Grandfather set the trend of carrying a cane in public and buying separate Dragon hide boots to use in the lavatory.

Father set the trend of growing his hair long enough to be tied into a ponytail as some sort of Death eater fashion. As for me, everything I do is _in vogue. _So, there.

" Actually, I plan to do it here at the manor, in my wing, of course."

At this proclamation, Father looks at me and shakes his head. Well, what did he expect? I'm tired of fulfilling his expectations. Last time he expected me to take over the "Malfoy business empire", as he calls it. But I ran off to join the Auror Department at the Ministry. Who wants to waste their time sitting in a closed room counting money like a rabid miser? Surely not me.

"Oh! What a great idea."

I was so busy staring at Father that I forgot about Scheming Black Female (SBF) and her attempts to throttle any sweet hope of extending my days of bachelorhood. Sigh.

"Sure Mother, whatever you say."

My father clears his throat abruptly, "When is Miss Parkinson arriving?"

"I have the date with her at seven tonight."

Mother grins at me and I feel like pouting. This is all her fault. There I was, innocently spending my days in solitude, when she gets the idea that I should make a proposal to my girlfriend of the time on the same date as Father proposed to her. She found it romantic. I found it horrifying. Father found it amusing. The house-elves found it…ahem…my point is I did not agree at all. But then SBF uses the hidden weapon of crocodile tears and pleading eyes to convince me that the age of twenty-five is ripe enough to settle down and bear fruits for the future. What she meant by fruits is still unclear to me. So, to summarize my uneasy situation at present, I agreed to her wish. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I had my reasons for the same.

Firstly, out of all the girls I have dated in the past five years, Pansy is the only fitting match for me. Not a goddess but not an eyesore either. A bit clingy but then again, it feels good to have someone worship you everyday. Secondly, my marriage to her would be nothing like that of my parents because, even though Pansy is demanding, she will play the role of an obedient wife, fulfilling my wishes, just fine. So, I get to wear the trousers in the relationship. Thirdly, I've known her for about two decades now and know everything about her. I can handle her during all situations and lastly, she is wealthy and a pureblood.

All right, so the last part is quite unnecessary but nevertheless an added advantage to my mother's cause. However, the prospect of spending my life with her is quite unsettling because…well…the key element to lay the foundation of this marriage is missing. Love. But then again, Pansy loves me and even though I've never felt the same way, I know time will cause me to fall for her. Right?

Right.

Still, the thought of loosing my status as a bachelor does not please me but I guess the need to satisfy SBF has forced me to agree to all this crap.

The rest of breakfast is uneventful and I'm glad to flee from the table.

* * *

"So, Pansy, huh?"

"Zabini, if you do not shut up within the next ten seconds, I'll shove something down your inquisitive throat to make you."

"Relax mate, I'm just checking."

"Are you the matron assigned to look after me that you _have_ to keep a check of the happenings of my life?"

"What are friends for?" he asks rhetorically.

I sigh for the umpteenth time that day. It is already five thirty and the prospect of my fast-approaching doom causes me to scowl at everyone I see.

Blaise gives me a funny look and continues with the babble that he has been spouting for the past hour. He reminds me of a gossiping schoolgirl sometimes. Could have been the ideal son for SBF but all bad things are reserved for me and I'm sure all the divine powers above have a separate magical cocoon reserved for storing all that may lead me to perish in the most gruesome ways.

"Guess what the big talk of the Ministry is today?"

Blaise is bursting with excitement to break the news to me and his gleeful expression lightens my mood…somewhat.

"Not so big, if I haven't heard about it."

"That may be because you were busy sulking about your upcoming honeymoon with Parkinson."

"I do not sulk," I emphasize indignantly.

"Sorry, I meant wallowing in self pity."

"I do not wallow in anything."

"Oh for Merlin's sake! Will you let me tell you already?"

His impatience is a sight to behold. Of the two of us, he is the one with greater self-control and seeing him this way helps me to forget about unwanted words like Pansy, marriage, SBF, engagement, ripe, fruit etc.

Unwanted but unavoidable.

"All right, get on with it then."

Blaise takes a deep breath as though whatever he is going to say is a matter of grave significance.

"Weasley proposed Granger to marry him."

The news is a bit startling because I always thought…

"Aren't they married already?"

He looks at me incredulously, his blue eyes widening in surprise and confusion, like the time they widened when we discovered that Flitwick had a thing for Sprout back at Hogwarts. It had been a likely possibility and both of us had played matchmakers to set them up but tiny Flitwick seemed to be uninterested in Mandrakes, which were Sprout's favorite. So, our brilliant plan involving a dinner in a greenhouse with the Mandrakes serving as background entertainment was flushed down the drain forever. Had we succeeded, Salazaar would have been proud.

Snapping out of my reverie, I see my best friend shaking his head in a dismissive manner.

"Malfoy, you've lost touch with reality. Pansy occupying your thoughts that much?"

"You have no idea…So, how did you know about Weasley's proposal?"

"I saw him do it."

"Spying on Gryffindors, are you?"

"Nah, he did the deed here at the Ministry."

"Are you serious?" What kind of man proposes to his girlfriend in an office? A red-haired moronic, idiotic twit of man like Weasley. How _unromantic_.

"Trust me mate. You missed a rare opportunity of seeing Granger jumping on that clown in front of everyone."

"She actually _jumped_ him?" It's hard to picture Granger as that sort of girl. Maybe my observations were all wrong. Hmm.

"Err…Jumping as in leaping into his arms by leaving contact with the ground. Not the way you are thinking."

"Well, she might have been over the moon that Weasel actually asked her at last but maybe disappointed that he didn't do it in a library."

Blaise smirks, I smirk back.

"Well, seeing as you share your engagement with Weasley, why not go to a pub and celebrate?"

I consider his offer. Maybe this will be the last drink before the chains of engagement and marriage bind me. What's the harm? A final toast to bachelorhood. Of course.

* * *

It is 06:50 now. Ten more minutes and then I make everyone happy. SBF being first on the list. Pansy will be happy too. After about five minutes, a house elf announces the arrival of my girlfriend. I take a deep breath.

_This is it, Draco. Brace yourself for the future_. I encourage my inner self.

Wand-check.

Engagement ring-check.

Clothes-check.

Hair-check.

Absence of SBF-check twice.

Lucius-do not care, do not check.

Argh!!! Enough with the checking. That is Zabini's job. I take a deep breath again. Just to be sure that I'm still alive and doing this. Rotating my shoulders to regain the infamous Malfoy confidence, I walk fearlessly towards the foyer to welcome my future wife into my life.

And house.

_Pansy!!! Here I come._

**AN: Do tell me what you feel. Constuctive criticism is welcome.**

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	2. Wedding Plans

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, J.K.Rowling does.**

**Sorry for the long wait. I've been busy with exams lately, so this update has been late. Take it as a Valentine's Day gift and let me know what you think of this chapter. Leave a review and any new ideas or suggestions are welcome. I've taken some time from my study schedule to put up this chapter and I'd really, really like it if you leave a review.**

**Thanks to Shadowdust258, allycat1186 and Isadora120 for their beautiful reviews. You are my first reviewers and I dedicate this chapter to the three of them.**

**Happy Reading, all!!!**

**Chapter-2**

**Wedding Plans**

Spontaneity is a quality I admire in women. There are handfuls, which fulfill that particular criterion, and I'm glad that Pansy is one of them. You know, ever since I turned seventeen, I've picked up quite a lot of hints regarding the working of the female mind. Women are often deemed as the weaker sex. I've no qualms about that ideology because…well…I've no reason to believe otherwise. Not that women can't be strong and rival masculine dominance, ever present in our society but they tend to be a bit submissive, at least in the darker crevices of their mind. And that is how I like them. Males are the real protectors and power holders in any relationship. That is a personal viewpoint but the gist of my wise musing is that I prefer a partner who is less forceful and more abiding. To my ideas, my life and my wishes.

However, the real humor is wrapped up in the sheer irony of my predicament. My views about a future wife are less stringent compared to a majority of pureblooded youth. Hence, to make my monotonous existence even more cumbersome, the divine powers picked up a cruel curse from the cocoon of miseries and tossed it my way. _Let the poor man try and figure out to loosen this trap, as it will never unwind. Lets screw his life all over again._

Would Pansy be the ideal choice for a life partner? Can I learn to love her in time to make this work? Is this marriage a sham? Am I merely succumbing to pressure?

My initial confidence to welcome my girlfriend a.k.a future fiancée into the household has dissipated fast like air from a gas balloon. I now indulge in a shameful act, which my ancestors must have demolished from the _Standard Book Of Social Conduct By A Malfoy. _I begin wringing my hands. Pansy strolls lavishly into the front parlour led by my personal house elf, Rumy. She flashes a pretty smile on seeing me and hastens her steps for the surprise I promised her. _Here we go buddy._

* * *

"Did you read the _Prophet_ by any chance?" 

That is the first question directed at me by the overly happy, smirking can-make-great-bonding-relationship-with-my-mother, excuse of a primate, Blaise Zabini.

Last night was torture. After a formal proposal in a stoic tone, I had to endure what could be called endless girlish giggles between Mother and Pansy. More than my bride-to-be, Mother seemed to be excited and they set off developing plans for the nuptials. Naturally, my body and brain are not made to stand such long hours of useless babbling by screeching females and hence I'm particularly grumpy this morning. Not to mention the fact that Father disappeared into thin air last evening, re-emerged today morning at the breakfast table reading the newspaper _again_ and giving me half sardonic smiles as though cackling mutely at an inside joke.

" No I didn't."

"Considering your attitude at present, I'd say it had a lot to do with Weasley stealing your glory."

When did Weasley come in the picture?

"What are you talking about?" I ask irritably while sliding into the chair in my cabin and focusing on the files littered across the table.

"Surprise!!!!" he exclaims loudly and tosses the paper my way. I give him a glare and look at the headline. I read. I gaped. What the-?

_**WEASLEY-GRANGER NUPTIALS OVERSHADOW MALFOY-PARKINSON UNION.**_

London, 23 March 2008, Tuesday 

_Amidst mass speculations about their relationship as friends and more than friends, Chudley Cannons Keeper, Ronald Weasley and long time companion, Hermione Granger have decided to tie the knot at last, much to the joy of family and friends. In a surprise move yesterday, Mr.Weasley made an appearance at the Ministry of Magic itself with a bouquet of daffodils. Dressed in immaculate dress robes, a rare feat for the popular wizard, he put forth the marriage proposal to Miss Granger who accepted it with tears of happiness. A co-worker of the former war heroine spares no efforts to describe the romantic scene, "Oh! It was so sweet and spontaneous. The last thing we expected was for him to propose and in such charming fashion indeed. Hermione is really lucky and so is Ronald. They make a cute couple." Also expressing his happiness was the long time best friend of the duo, Mr. Harry Potter. "They are meant to be and all I can say is- About time both of you." _

_The couple has reaped praises for their success in their individual lives and everyone sees the marriage as a very anticipated event. However, the good news doesn't end there and the renowned Keeper seems to share not only the date of his engagement but also that of the wedding with celebrated Auror and millionaire Mr. Draco Malfoy. The three-time winner of The Most Eligible Bachelor title by Witch Weekly has finally decided to settle down with his ex-school mate and beau, Miss Pansy Parkinson. The details of the engagement are hazy though an eager Narcissa Malfoy has confirmed the event itself. She happily discloses the fact that the marriage will be held on the 17__th__ of April, the same date as that of the Weasley-Granger wedding. Young Mr. Malfoy has not spoken on the matter yet, but his fiancée is quite earnest to play the role of the new Lady of the Manor. The young fashion consultant has pursued a relationship with the dashing wizard for over a year now. Her enthusiasm at the unexpected proposal was evident from the fact that she was seen shopping in Diagon Alley with her future mother-in-law._

_As the surprise of witnessing two major weddings on the same day seeps in, one wonders which of the two would have a larger guest attendance. With the popularity of the Chudley Cannons and its Keeper, the fame of Draco Malfoy is likely to be diminished. Alas! Only time will tell whether the twin nuptials are a sheer matter of coincidence or a subtle ploy by former rivals to outdo one-another._

_Meanwhile, we at the Daily Prophet wish the two couples our heartiest congratulations._

"What," I took a deep breath, "is the meaning of this?"

"That, you'll probably share the birthday of your first born with the red-headed moron." Blaise replies while filing his nails. The idiot. I used to question his sexualityfor a long time, but after leaving Hogwarts, I realized that the loser knew too much about me and indulged in petty Pansy-like acts to test my patience. Must hide the nail file.

"I did not even know of the wedding date." I retorted angrily while eyeing the metal contraption in Zabini's hand with contempt.

Blaise shrugs nonchalantly.

"Listen mate. Even if you wanted to know, you wouldn't know. You couldn't know. Narcissa sees you as an ideal romance hero who'll be gallant and sweep Pansy off her feet. Pansy sees you as…well…I really don't know what she sees in you…but suffice is to say that she doesn't mind some Malfoy Galleons in her Gringotts account. Ah! And she _loves_ her _Dracky darling._"

I scowl at him darkly. I regret to think that spontaneity can cause such misery in a lad's life. Curse the day I appreciated spontaneous women.

"Look Draco, scowling will only make you even less attractive and all the lessons I taught you in your younger years to lure females will be wasted. Since you can't say no to lovely Narcissa, all I can say is smile, marry and copulate."

"What do you mean _copulate_? This is not some animal husbandry class for farmers. I _have_ to marry Pansy, for Merlin's sake. Can't you even sympathize with a fellow Slytherin?"

Blaise just chuckles good-naturedly and pats my shoulder as though I'm his faithful Golden Retriever. "At least, Pansy adores you. Loves you, even. Think of it as a long time courtship. You may be able to love her eventually."

"Yeah right. If eventually means in hundred years." I mumble to myself.

The short conversation does nothing to ease my pain but Blaise is a bloke who'll help me sail through this mess. He always helps.

* * *

Lunch was a flurry of activity and while walking out of my cabin, I run into the last person I wish to see right now. 

"I'm sorry, Malfoy."

Of course, she has to be sarcastic every hour of the day and boss around the Ministry like the rest of us are nothing but helpless house elves. Must be Potter's hero-complex and Weasley's stupidity hybridized in a female form.

"Whatever, Granger." I have no wish to spend even more than the necessary time in her presence. Its true that we work as Aurors at the same department but getting along with her is impossible and even _inappropriate_. I prefer women to be willing listeners and patient conversationalists. As the female before me is neither willing nor patient, I've never really made an attempt at chitchat. Besides, there is hardly a topic we can talk about. Her attitude is downright unacceptable for me. Granger has a perverse need to prove herself to others and squash in her opinions into even the most unwilling minds. These attributes, I have bestowed on her right from school years and there is no need to contradict my own deductions.

Straightening my shoulders, I walk away. But Granger being the incessant attention-seeker, next only to Potter, calls me back.

"I heard of your wedding. Congratulations."

The sarcasm has quite vanished from her tone and her unexpected attempt at "best compliments from an indifferent co-worker" startles me. I retreat my steps and flash a smirk her way.

"Why Granger, thank you. And the heartiest best wishes to you as well. You and Weasley are the epitome of wizarding marriage- the union of two different worlds, a force to be recognized. Pass my congratulations to your fiancé as well, hm?"

Condescending but a well-aimed remark nonetheless.

She glared at me, her frown deepening. After about three seconds of angry looks, she shrugged delicately and added off-handedly, "Its good to know that we won't be present at each others' weddings."

I snort.

"Is that wishful thinking, Granger?"

"No, more like an unwavering assurance."

Clever witch. She has a way with words. Something absent in her two best friends.

"Sure, I'm glad about that as well." Having cleared that up, I stalk away from her, the same time she turns away from me.

* * *

I have no interest in apples. They are fruits that are not at all appealing in appearance or taste. Apple juice is fine by me but the red fruit in itself is not of my liking. However, seeing the hateful apples at the dinner table decorated atop a bowl is hardly a matter of surprise. 

Father loves apples. Blaise loves apples. Even Pansy can pass it an acceptable vitamin source. And seeing that all these people are present at the table, it is obvious that my least favorite fruit that keeps the Healer away, has to make an appearance.

"Blaise dear, I've hardly seen you over the past month. Where have you been.?"

Great. Just what I need now. One schemer acknowledging another.

"Oh! Narcissa you are too kind. Maybe Draco can learn a thing or two from you. I've been busy with work lately." Zabini comments while raising his eyebrows at me in what I can assume as amusement. I just ignore his jab and look straight at Mother to know what I want to know and _have_ to know.

"Mother, if I may ask, what is the purpose of this unusual social dinner?"

_Social dinner?_ More like free food for unwanted gatecrashers. If Pansy sighs one more time, I might as well pull out all her pretty hair and sneer at Father for smiling evilly at me.

Surprisingly, it is Father himself who answers me.

"Draco, we wish to inform you that you fix a date for the _**Unione dei wands **_ceremony."

"The _what_?"

Mother clears her throat, a common gesture to get my attention, and looks at me with a small smile.

"Draco dear, we are talking about the age old ceremony- The Union of the Wands. It's an integral part of wizarding marriages and it is our wish that Pansy and you go through it before the actual wedding."

Whatever is she talking about?

"What exactly is the significance of this ceremony?"

"Look son, it's an ancient ritual meant to ensure compatibility and security in matrimony. Simply put, just as the wand chooses its wizard, it chooses the life partner as well. Since you've already proposed to Miss Parkinson, the ceremony will simply reiterate the obvious- your willing marriage to her. In other words, your wands will be bound forever." Father finishes with a flourish.

_Forever?_

That is not possible. I'll be forced to be with Pansy? Forever? Till eternity? If this isn't a nightmare come true, then I've no clue what it is. This is a first in a long time that I've been rendered speechless. Composing myself, I excuse myself from the table and move to the sitting room. The proof of my panicked state is the apple that I picked up on my way out.

This is it. I'll marry Pansy and raise a family with her. Why does it sound like a chore? Maybe because I never intended to marry anytime soon. However, it had to happen someday or the other. So, I try consoling myself that this is what I want, what I need. A disturbance at my left startles me and I look up to see Blaise standing there with his arms crossed.

"Draco, you okay?"

I heave a sigh and nod unconvincingly.

He shakes his head and places a hand on my shoulder.

"It was bound to happen, mate and you know it. This union thing is inevitable and even without it, you'd still be wed to Pansy forever. Separation is out of question and...I hope you get used to the idea."

At my silent response, he sits down opposite to me and smiles a genuine smile.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy. You knew this was coming."

"Yeah."

A few minutes pass in silence. Then-

"So, what are your plans on honeymoon?"

The git is grinning like a baffoon. Oh, the creep.

"What's up with you and honeymoon. If you like the idea so much, why don't you marry someone and spend the rest of your life as honeymoon? At least others can be at peace." I grumble incoherently.

"But _Draco darling_, I want to know of your honeymoon plans. Frankly, I don't know what you'll do on yours because all I can picture is Pansy swooning all over you and you wallowing in self-pity."

"I do not _wallow_ in anything." That's the second time he's insinuated the same thing.

"So, you've told me."

I just ignore his humored laugh and move to my bedroom.

"Glad to know that you are happy about this marriage, Zabini."

I don't hear a response fom him but I catch Mother's voice trailing from the dinner table.

"Draco, Blaise is everything all right?"

Oh, everything is bloody fabulous. Damn Narcissa Malfoy for putting me in tight situations. This is a lesson for all young men trying to please their old mothers. Let my ruined existence go down in the golden pages of history so that others can avoid my fate.

I sigh dramatically for extra effect and return to my sleeping chamber. Let everyone rejoice the sacrifices of _Draco Malfoy, the hero_.


	3. The Union Of The Wands

**Disclaimer: All thhe characters of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**The verse in italics is an excerpt from "The Prophet" by Khalil Gabran** . **After a long wait, I present you the third and a very decisive chapter of this story. Do not doubt for even a minute that this can be anything other than DMHG. Thanks to all my reviewers who find this fic worth reading and reviewing. I'd love to hear your comments on this chapter. Do leave a review. Constructive criticism is welcome. I dedicate this chapter to my faithful reviewer Isadora120, who has reviewed habitually for both my stories. Thank you, Is. Thanks to all readers. As always-**

**Happy Reading!**

**Chapter-3**

**The Union Of The Wands**

"Ronald, try to understand, will you?"

"What's there to understand? It's a brilliant colour combination after all!"

"But look at your hair colour. Look at the hair colour of all the Weasleys. Orange is surely going to clash horribly with it," I sighed. This man is impossible. The proof of the same is the terrible migraine that seems to have pitched a holiday tent in my head. Ugh.

"I want the colour of the Cannons at the wedding. It's brilliant."

"Look, if you think the colour is so brilliant, why don't you marry it instead? Honestly Ron, why are you being difficult?"

He shrugs lightly and then frowns. _Bewildered_ is his newfound middle name.

"Maybe if we use a little purple with it…"

That's it. Why I bothered to question his color sense is lost to me. The ways in which Quidditch ruins your life. Sigh.

I often envisioned my wedding to be like a fairy tale end to the dramatic life I've led so long. Just like Cinderella, Snow White and other female protagonists, I let my girly side wander to romantic scenarios that I wished to live through and cherish till the end. Those delusions have long deserted me for my Prince Charming is none other than…

"Hermione, did you hear what I said about including white in the décor?"

See, one sentence from his mouth is enough for any living wizard or witch to identify him as Ronald Weasley. The name isn't striking or exotic. The man himself is unimpressive. He and I hardly share any common qualities. While his nights are filled with dreams of capturing Quaffles and pummeling the Falcon Chasers, mine are wound around life, job, marriage, family and of course books. He believes in tackling life as it comes its way on every morrow while I'm a planner, thinking constantly of the future with perhaps a disregard for the present. He hates traditional clothing and has even tried convincing me to update my wardrobe with _easy casuals _as he calls them. He is fond of crowds, chaos and mayhem whereas I find solace in the peaceful silence of a library.

Yet, if I had to change a thing or two about him, I would refuse profusely because change will alter the creation that is Ronald Bilius Weasley. He has a knack to cheer up people even in the darkest of moods. Patience isn't a virtue but a marked absence in his personality. If he were to be like me, what would I ever do spending a lifetime with him? Read biographies in a public library? I don't think so because the adventure, the thrill, the happiness and the love I feel in his presence is irreplaceable. And, his decision to marry me has only multiplied those emotions to massive proportions.

Currently, we are seated in the office of Elida Sparks, our wedding planner. It's a pity she had to be acquainted with the idiotic side of my fiancé.

"Mr. Weasley, if I may suggest, white is the colour for winter weddings and considering that you'd be wed by April, the colour wouldn't present a satisfying picture."

She is a middle-aged witch with muggle parents and exquisite taste in everything to do with marriage. A close companion of Molly Weasley, Sparks had connections not only in the wizarding world but the muggle surroundings as well. It had been Arthur's wish to set her up for the wedding, seeing that she was compliant and warm-hearted to incorporate sensible alterations to the preparations without being cynical.

Ron, it seemed, was not very pleased with the witch's subtle yet blatant refusal of including non-matching colors at the ceremony. His devotion to a Quidditch team like the Cannons was deep-rooted and I was not surprised at his desire to pull a part of it into something so decisive of his future. Yet, he squashed his disappointment and tried to flash a pleasant smile my way.

"So, you agree with the gold and maroon scheme?"

It's a bit flattering to know that he cares more for my wishes and opinion than his own. Selflessness is fused in his blood. I can't help but smile in return.

"Yes, I feel that would be best. Moreover, everyone approved of it. Ginny was particularly ecstatic."

"I guess you are right."

"So, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, shall I proceed forth with the colors you've chosen?"

"Indeed." We both agreed at the same time.

* * *

After an hour long session with Sparks, we came back to the Burrow and were not at all surprised to see Harry and Ginny involved in another one of their habitual quarrels.

"You are accusing me of being a workaholic? What about you, Ginny? Has _The Witch Weekly_ offered better lodging arrangements?"

"That is none of your business, Harry. I do what I want to do with my life. If you wish to whine like a spoiled git, might I suggest that you present that attitude before Luna, who would care for it."

"Look Ginny, I mean well. Writing for a nonsensical women's magazine is hardly a job up to your caliber."

I wonder when these situations came into being. Harry and Ginny's relationship had always been a volatile one. They were never involved after sixth year, but the tension that loomed about them was a validated evidence of their long suppressed emotions. At present, Ginny was scowling darkly at a frowning Harry.

"I don't see the point in you being worried about my caliber or job. Save your concerns because I have six brothers to do that. Moreover, you don't see me meddling in your work as an Auror, do you?"

"That's besides the point. The article published in that wretched magazine yesterday-"

"Oh, oh! Is that what has got you so upset. Your hidden affair with Luna Lovegood?"

"Ginny, Luna and I are good friends and she has helped me numerous times when I was at Mungo's. Also, I've no need to explain my relationship with her to anybody because I'm not involved with anyone else. You call it an _affair _as if I cheated on someone."

"I-"

By this point, I could sense Ron fidgeting by my side. I knew, the episode opening up before us was at a crucial stage and before Ginny could burst out again, I cleared my throat.

"Hello Harry, Ginny."

The two people addressed thus were startled at the abrupt interruption. Harry flushed and gave a sheepish smile while Ginny asked out loud, "How long have you two been eavesdropping?"

Before I could say a thing, Ron replied smoothly or as smoothly as he could, "Long enough to know that you love _Witch Weekly_ and are the new Rita Skeeter in the making."

"How was the session with the wedding planner?" Harry asked, ignoring his friend's blunt remark.

"Bloody useless. Stupid women both her and my fiancé. Would you believe it if I said that they thought orange and purple were not brilliant colors?"

I wanted to stomp my foot in frustration. He just couldn't forget, could he?

"Ron, we merely said that they were not so brilliant together."

"But why…I think they are brilliant."

"RONALD WEASLEY, you'll quit using the word 'brilliant' henceforth, lest you want a broken limb before the wedding."

Ron just cowers with fear on his face and shoots Harry a hopeful look, which I know all too well. Taking the hint, my best friend steps forward to save the day or rather save Ron from incurring more of my wrath.

"Ron, why don't we move to Grimmauld? Lots of catching up to do, eh? That last game against Falmouth was pretty impressive…."

I tune out his attempted subject change and turn to Ginny to assess the damage an oblivious Harry Potter has unearthed in her heart.

Gryffindors are often mocked as wearing emotions on their sleeves. That had been one of the shortcomings of Harry that caused the second war to stretch for such a long time. However, if I were to name a former Gryffindor quite adept at covering their true feelings, it would be Ginevra Weasley. I've known her for as long as I've known my other two male best friends. On the exterior, she presents the picture of a fiery, passionate and beautiful woman with a fire of determination that is ever present in her family. Yet, the conflicting emotions that have plagued her regarding the green-eyed hero are well concealed.

Ginny has always held Harry at a higher citadel than all other males in her life. Having had tried her hand at numerous trysts with schoolmates and workmates alike, it is clear from the sadness of her eyes that no other wizard can hold her affections and attentions like Harry. She has hidden her feelings for so long that the protective layer has cracked and her frustration at the lack of interest from Harry's side has caused her to snap at every comment he tosses her way.

I fully supported Ginny on the matter because I thought she had all the qualities of supporting Harry forever. I say _supported_ because I don't support the notion any more. She is a grown woman and wasting her time mooning over someone who is oblivious to the heavy hints she has dropped, is, according to me, simply a waste of time. Ginny can do so much better. She needs someone who compliments her fiery nature and appreciates her efforts and cares for her. Not someone like Harry who has reverently assumed the role of a surrogate brother.

Love cannot be forced. For the longest time, I believed that Harry and Ginny were meant to be but his recent relationship with Luna has disproved my baseless belief. While Luna is calm, serene and patient, qualities that are not common in the Potter line, Ginny lacks them by a heavy difference. If ever Harry were to be with her, they would spend their time arguing and competing for each other's affections. He is happy with Luna and happiness is something that he deserves like no other. Foolish high school crushes led by hormones cannot form the foundation of a relationship and it is high time that Ginny received a reality check.

"Hey Ginny, that interview with Angelina was fabulous."

Ginny simply shrugged and turned away.

"It was just a job assigned. Nothing I did on my own free will. Besides, Angelina is an old friend, so no problem to ask a few questions."

She said it all in a flat tone, the disappointment from earlier quite evident in her voice.

"Listen Ginny, Harry-"

"Would you like some tea, Hermione? Ron should have been here. He makes the best tea I've ever tasted. Those Cannon guys sure know how to cook." Ginny said with a forced smile.

See, she is covering again.

"Yeah, tea will be fine. We had lunch on the way back."

There is silence after this except for the clinking of crockery at the kitchen counter.

"Look Ginny, Harry has a lot on his mind, lately."

"It's still two sugars for you, right?"

Now, this attitude is downright unacceptable. I merely walk up to her and stop her from pouring the tea.

"Tea can wait. Now listen carefully to what I say. Harry Potter is a great guy but he is not the one for you."

"I gathered that much when he started dating one of my best friends."

"Luna makes him happy, Ginny. Have you seen him this happy after the war? The guy is literally on cloud nine all day. As for you, either he doesn't want to give you false hope or he just doesn't love you like that anymore."

Ginny shakes her head slightly with a grim expression on her face.

"Don't you think I've tried? Every bloody day I see him, I try to forget the past. But I can't…I can't just forget everything. It's…hard."

All right, at least she isn't crying which I take as a good sign. There is hope after all.

"Ginny, you need someone else. Someone to keep that vicious Weasley temper in check. Someone to love you for who you are. That someone is yet to emerge before you. So, all I suggest is that you wait."

Phew! The ordeal is over because I see her first genuine smile of the afternoon. I know she understands and she sure will try to overcome this Harry…phase. I just wish the next someone is caring enough to not hurt her. Now, I know I've spaced out for Ginny looks at me funny.

"Earth to Hermione? I think my love life has ruined all the escapades of your boring one. What luck! A fiancé who thinks orange is more brilliant than Hermione I'm-the-brightest-witch-who-will-ever-marry-a-fool-like-Ron-Granger."

Look at that. The bird is already getting cheeky. I knew condolences caused her to become cocky. Anyway, as long as she doesn't sulk like a child, I can ignore all her jibes.

"Don't let your brother hear that."

"Oh, Hermione, he already knows all this. Lucky clown. With a brain like his, I thought the greatest he could ever bag would be some brainless bimbo working as a cook in some orange themed restaurant."

I laugh hysterically at this. This girl is a wonder. I just don't know where I would be without her.

"Okay Ginny, jokes apart, I hope you know we are to go to the Ministry tomorrow. 'We' meaning you, me and Ron."

"Oh, I remember all right. The ceremony, if I'm not wrong?"

"Yeah."

"Dad told me personally about the Wand Union thing. It sounds cool. Mum said, it has been practiced right from the time of Merlin himself."

"Molly is right. It is one of the oldest traditions of wizarding society and it is irreversible."

"Right, but I've to leave early afterwards." She makes a face of disgust. At my confused response, she recites in a high-pitched voice, "Exclusive interview of Pansy Parkinson on the 1st of April on the occasion of her birthday."

I knew I looked like a dumb fish gaping at her incredulously.

"Parkinson was born on All Fools Day?"

Ginny grins, " Her birth marks the beginning of foolishness."

We joke around a bit about Pansy and her different stupid stunts throughout the years. Ginny has a list of questions for her already prepared. After hearing the first five, I choke on the tea and beg her to spare me the hilarity. The mood lightens slightly and the Harry situation just looks like a distant hallucination.

It was finally decided that Ginny would meet Ron and me at the Ministry tomorrow at 10 am, seeing that the ceremony was to be held at 10:30.

The Union Of The Wands is the oldest ceremony to ensure safety, security and compatibility in marriage. Though practiced for many centuries, it isn't a mandatory part of modern wizarding weddings today. However, some pureblood and other orthodox clans within the society consider it an indispensable part of matrimony. I do not know the details but from Molly I've gathered that it is an exchange of vows involving wands. The catch is that the effects are permanent.

This fact doesn't bother me in the slightest, as I'm not one of those unsure brides-to be who are too scared to step into the arena of married life and suffer the added burden of a surplus family. Right from the time I started dating Ron, I've been certain of my feelings towards him. He may not declare his undying love for me, but his gestures and body language provide all the reassurance I need.

The only hurdle I see in the arrangement is our varying work field. More often than not, Ron is on tour, while I'm stuck at the Auror Department. Of course, Harry has been supportive to me and helped me search for a decent apartment in my earlier years when I was just a trainee. Yet, the absence of Ronald does sting a bit. However, his team has taken up domestic tournaments in London itself for the next eleven months, a development I'm rather glad about. Our future is almost mapped out and I can't wait to plunge in and fulfill the desire that has twined my heart for a long time- become a bride, a mother and live happily ever after. Maybe I can write up my own fairy tale.

* * *

The Ministry of Magic should have been the next wonder of the world seeing its gargantuan size and sheer workmanship in interior decoration. I consider Fridays as the best days of the week, because the weekend gives me time to catch up on my reading and spend more time with my parents. Ron and I arrived at the ninth level at 10 am as was planned and a quarter of an hour later, Ginny made an appearance hefting a heavy carry bag with her. When asked about the extra baggage, she scowls and remarks with an irritated air, "Parvati's clothes for the fashion week. Woman thinks I'm some highly adapted, overgrown house-elf. She has a show at one in the afternoon and as I'm covering for Witch Weekly, she wanted me to carry her skimpy clothes. Damn friendship."

She looks at both of us and smiles cutely before saying, "Never mind Parvati. Are you ready to marry this git and become my sis-in-law?"

"Hey, watch who you call a git."

Honestly Ron! Typical man.

"Of course I'm ready," I reply instantly and Ron scoops me up and plants a sweet kiss on my awaiting lips.

"Oh! How romantic! This is one spectacle only blessed mortals can see."

I knew the day would not be perfect. I knew there had to be some sort of trouble waiting. In my life, there has always been a constant. One that has remained unchanged from the beginning till the present. No matter what the circumstance-school, university, war, workplace- Draco Malfoy has been a constant presence in my life highlighting all features of an easily ignorable but unavoidable pest. He was here on level nine. Not alone though. There was Pansy Parkinson by his side in a glittery green dress embedded with stones that sparkled suspiciously like emeralds. Right behind the rich couple was Blaise Zabini, a co-Auror. Despite being a Slytherin, Zabini was quite amicable at work and we often managed to be civil. He looked startled to see us here in contrast to his blond friend's expression, who seemed to look at us as newly appointed circus performers. Surprisingly, it was Zabini who broke the uneasy silence between us.

"My, my, Miss Ginevra, whatever are you doing with an ugly leather bag in the marriage department?"

Apparently, that was the incorrect thing to say to an already angry Ginny Weasley.

"Why Zabini, perhaps you'd like to carry it, seeing that it matches your looks exactly."

Blaise just raised an amused eyebrow.

"My looks are far from ugly. If anything, they are next to perfection."

It seemed as though Malfoy was used to having all attention on him at any form of gathering and thus in an attempt to re-iterate his self-importance, he drawls in a bored tone, "Blaise, lets move in, already. Why waste time with unworthy people…oh…I mean unworthy conversation."

The prat then had the audacity to look at Ron and smirk condescendingly. My fiancé, being the hotheaded male that he was, tried to draw his wand, probably to hex Malfoy to oblivion. However, I knew better than to allow him to curse a fully trained Auror within the Ministry premises, much less an ignorant petulant _boy_ like Malfoy. One calming hand on his clenching fist and he looks at me with doubt but at my pleading eyes, he forfeits and just snaps irritably, "Bugger off, Malfoy." We then manage to move away from the trio along with Ginny, who for reasons unknown to me, is glaring at Zabini. Blaise in turn smirks at us in a "you-know-how-Malfoy-gets" way and winks at Ginny as we pass through the large double doors that lead to hall, which resembles a rather large muggle cathedral.

* * *

"Ladies, gentlemen, the reason for your attendance at the Marriage Registration and Surveillance Committee is quite clear to you, I hope. I hereby state that the _**Unione dei wands **_ceremony, held on the first of every month is about to be conducted for the month of April in the year of our Lord, 2008. The couples to be united thus under the pious bond of matrimony are Draco Black Malfoy, pureblood, from the honorable house of Black and Malfoy to Pansy Sleven Parkinson, pureblood from the honorable house of Sleven and Parkinson and Ronald Bilius Weasley, pureblood from the honorable house of Prewett and Weasley to Hermione Jean Granger, muggle-born from the honorable house of Ryan and Granger. It is hereby declared that the unions declared above are true and under full approval from both the parties involved. If any one or more of the aforementionted pronounciations are incorrect step forth and rectify."

There was a pause after this, only for about ten seconds. The bald man reciting the vows had an air of superiority about him and was eyeing each person in the hall with an eagle eye, much like Snape in the midst of a Potion lecture. He had adorned white robes like that of a clergy and was standing on a pedestal with two middle-aged men in blue robes standing on either side. The clergy-like man resumed the marriage vows and it was now that I realized that this was more and more like a true marriage ceremony than I thought before.

"_You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.  
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.  
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.  
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,  
And let the winds of heavens dance between you._

_Love one another, but make not a bond of love:  
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.  
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.  
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.  
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,  
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music._

_Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.  
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.  
And stand together yet not too near together:  
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,  
and the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow._

"Kindly place your wands in the silver bowl presented before you," he said indicating one of the blue robed men to step forth with said bowl containing a golden liquid that sparkled and shone reflecting its shine throughout the hall.

Ron and I are standing in front of each other and so are Malfoy and Parkinson, each person separated by a distance of ten feet, thus forming a square. Ginny and Zabini are standing on the side, far away from us. As the man approaches each of us, we place our wands in the bowl. Ron smiles at me and I smile back at him, thinking of the life we will live together. Malfoy has a thoughtful and almost nervous look on his face. I wonder why. Parkinson is adjusting her green dress and drooling at Malfoy in the annoying Pansy fashion. While I was busy observing the other people in the room, the blue robed man from earlier returns from earlier and hands us back our wands, which are now placed, on a red silk clothe. It seems as though a number of chants have been per formed on the wood because as I wind my fingers around it, it buzzes with suppressed energy. I look at my wand in amazement but am soon brought back to reality when the clergyman starts speaking again.

"Marriage is a contract made in due form of law, by which a free man and a free woman reciprocally engage to live with each other during their joint lives, in the union which ought to exist between husband and wife. By the terms freeman and freewoman are meant, not only that they are free and not slaves, but also that they are clear of all bars to a lawful marriage. Raise your wands now and repeat after me-

**Oh Senior! Redimio nos huic iugum sic nos may ago una per pacis quod gaudium. Redimio nostrum veneficus , redimio nostrum ago quod nostrum diligo forever exaro permaneo spiritus nos anhelo. Sumo is vox animus mihi quicum ego may exsisto reus exaro infinitio.**"

The chant was repeated by each of us with raised wands. About two seconds after the end of the chant, the hall was filled with a bright white light or rather silver light like the casting of a Patronus. It was impossible to see anyone else through the glaring light and it seemed to last for about two minutes. There was not a single sound. All was silent. Then, the fog cleared and I noticed Ron's smiling face and then I felt something metallic on my ring finger. Looking down at my left hand, I saw a gold ring. It was a simple band without any precious stones or gems attached to it. However, it did have an inscription. The script was hardly legible. Yet I squinted and read the preciously carved words on my magical wedding band.

_Draco Black Malfoy.__**  
**_


	4. All Fools' Day

**Disclaimer: All identifiable characters of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K.Rowling.**

**Special thanks and freshly baked cookies (imaginary) for all my reviewers:**

**Tennisplayerx33, Mendelbra, fwakes47, FreakyD45663, ****GoddessOfLove-War-Light-Dark, princecharmprincesswit, bruddy101, GilbertDrone328, vine a nail.**

**GilbertDrone328 and vine a nail:**** I'm happy to know that you are both intrigued by this fic and I in turn love your reviews. Do feel free to leave your comments on this chapter. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**

**Bruddy101:**** Thanks for your flattering opinion of the previous chapter. Here is the fourth chapter for you and I think I updated faster than last time. Maybe not. Still, read and do leave a review.**

**As for all my other readers, I'm much obliged to thank each and every one of you who has found this story worth reading. Very happy right now and jumping happily while facing the monitor.**

**So, I hope you all find this chapter equally good and give me your opinions, ideas, preferences regarding anything pertaining to this story. In other words, I hope you leave a review.**

**As always, Happy Reading, all!!!**

**A poem I wrote to portray the downfalls of pride. A complimentary piece for this fic**. 

_SHADOWS_

_Like a fountain of violet, darkness engulfs_

_The brightened skies,_

_Much like pride and pretence hide_

_All human lies_

_Stark naked is the sour truth…we are all shadows_

_Shadows of our true selves_

_Adamant of our righteousness_

_We are all but shells of an empty soul._

_Long gone are boastful days_

_When fathers' past glory_

_Made our armour shine,_

_Creepy silhouettes of ugly deeds _

_Overshadow the spark_

_And pride does decline._

_What have we earned? What have we reaped?_

_Nothing noteworthy, that's for sure._

_Pretence is all we have left; pity is all we deserve._

_There are great grieves to succumb_

_Great barriers to brandish_

_Oh.. Gone is pride, gone is glory,_

_With nothing to our credit, we are all shadows,_

_Useless clay in the hands of fate._

_Time ticks away, a silent warning_

_Can't we preserve our bruised pride?_

_At least for an eye blink?_

_We wish to die with content and honor_

_Lets do a deed on our own_

_Lest we wish our death not be mourned._

_Don't evolve the soul to feed your desire_

_Help someone who wants and is tired_

_For then will pretence be overshadowed,_

_For then we will step away from gloomy shadows_

No one asked about the chant in bold in the previous chapter. Still I'll give the translation.

Oh Older! To crown we in this yoke so we may to spend time in one very peace and joy. To crown our poisonous, to crown our to spend time and our to value highly forum to plow up to stay to the end breath we to desire. To take this cry courage me with whom I may to emerge defendant to plow up eternity.

* * *

**Chapter-4**

**All Fools' Day**

There has never been an untamable surprise in the whole twenty-five years of my existence. Turbulence is hardly manageable. After a war-filled adolescence, I've come to terms with the fact that life is never preplanned. The only thatched shelter we all share in common is the grave and the adventures we live through before the final vacation of non-existence can never be foretold. Through all this, I have personally trained myself to survive any bout of emotion.

Shock is not one of them.

For quite sometime now, I've hardly been subjected to astonishment. It isn't easy for me to grasp facts when they are presented as sharp slaps without premonition. This is hard, seeing that I work as an Auror with little say in what the villains of the real world plan so as to subject me to another tiring night of watch duty. Nevertheless, experience is the best teacher and after a long time, I can proudly say that I can now survive even the greatest of surprises, suspense, whatever that is chucked at my face.

Perhaps, chucked isn't the right word to use. Maybe thrown ungracefully with an attempted aim at my nose. You see, my maternal uncle is an English grammarian and avid linguist. So, I deem it my duty to avoid slang usage while addressing my inner self to please my amnesic uncle.

However, imagine my current state of lady-like behaviour, which surely isn't a trait of any lady, after the ceremony. Eyes popping like magical tennis balls stuffed into my skull sockets and drool ready to gush out like a new sprung waterfall with my mouth open wide- an opportunity for the whole world to catch a glimpse of the wonderful set of molars and premolars without the slightest sign of cavity. The innocent gold band on my finger has marred my external appearance already and the muddled thoughts shooting about my neurons are an added demerit of this strange ceremony.

"Parkinson, what the hell did you do to my wedding ring?"

As always, Ron Weasley is the man of the hour and his booming voice drags me back to the present.

Parkinson for her part chose to ignore Ron's angry question, instead focusing on her fiancé, who, incidentally, was gaping like a stricken toddler.

"Draco honey, why is the name on my ring _Ronald Bilius Weasley_?"

Malfoy for his part was staring at his left hand with a haunted expression, a mixture of anger, confusion and disbelief in his eyes. Without a single word, he approached the platform and raised his hand towards the priest's face.

"What. Is. The. Meaning. Of. This?"

The tone was clipped and it was a miracle that his jaw didn't break with the pressure he was applying to grit his teeth.

The priest, on the other hand waved a careless finger in Malfoy's face as a sign of dismissal.

"That, I believe is a wedding ring and apparently, that is the reason for your presence in the hall this morning."

Zabini, it seemed, was surprised by the lack of theatrics and cleared his throat uneasily, "Draco, mate, what is the problem?"

Then after a moment of silence, was the explosion.

"I'LL TELL YOU THE RUDDY_ PROBLEM_. MY WEDDING RING HAS THE NAME OF THE LEAST EXPECTED AND MOST HATEFUL WOMAN I'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO MEET!!!"

That declaration by him caused me to frown and wonder if his ring had my name on it by any chance. I was used to the idea of being his loath-toy for a long time. However, the usual indifference from my side that followed his disdained announcement was missing this time. The fact that he had the nerve to shout out such negative thoughts on such a pious occasion such as this, caused all numbness to flee away and unleash white, hot fury.

"Shut up, Malfoy!!! Just because you are a pampered git doesn't mean you've to throw a childish tantrum at a minor marriage mishap. Just exchange the ring with Ron and I'll do the same with Parkinson here. Honestly, even after years of you being _pureblood_, it surprises me that you can't worm out of silly debacles like these."

Saying so, I tugged at the band on my finger. It was a bit too tight for my taste and even after numerous attempts, the ring stayed coiled around my third digit without budging. Thinking quickly, I raised my wand to loosen it up when to my utter horror, it blended with my skin and disappeared completely. The sole hint of its existence on my person was the faint gold trail on the finger, just above my knuckles. Shocked and terrified, I looked up only to witness similar reactions from Ron, Pansy and Malfoy.

"What just happened?" I demanded in a rush to the priest, who was eyeing Malfoy carefully. I rushed to the pedestal and screamed in frustration, "WHAT JUST HAPPENED HERE? REMOVE THE RING NOW. I CAME TO MARRY RON, NOT THIS PRETENTIOUS RASCAL."

The man thus addressed, appeared to be taken aback at this bit of information. His brows knit together and he grabbed my hand to study the golden hue now shining through my skin.

"Merlin! Do you mean to say that…that…your fiancés have been _exchanged_?"

"WELL DONE!!! YOU CAUGHT ON REALLY QUICKLY. NOW REVERSE THIS AT ONCE." Malfoy shouted. It seemed as though a rusty loudspeaker was lodged in his throat with the decibels his voice was raised to.

Now, however, the expression on the priest's face was of clear shock and indecision.

"I'm sorry but the results are permanent."

There was a stunned silence after this. Before anyone could scream again, Parkinson launched forward and grabbed Ron's throat.

"WEASLEY!!! If you were unhappy with your bitch of a fiancé, why did you set this up to trick me? Draco and I are meant to be. Why did you ruin this day for me? WHY?"

It would have been comical had the situation not been so grave. Pansy, the tragedy queen, was shaking Ron repeatedly and his face was turning red from suffocation. Seeing this, I rushed forward to at the same time as Zabini moved to catch Parkinson.

"For the sake of Salazar, Pansy, control yourself," he panted in his attempt to subdue the weeping female. She thrashed wildly in his arms and looked up at Malfoy with mutinous eyes.

"Draco, do something. You can't let me go. We love each other. What of all the things we shared together. That muggleborn hardly deserves a wizard like you and I surely don't deserve a freckled beggar like _him_," she snapped waving an accusing finger in Ron's face.

"Oh please Parkinson! There is hardly any wizard who deserves _you_. The ideal match for you is either a hundred year old house-elf or some blind leper."

"RON!!!"

The outburst by my fiancé was uncalled for and rude. No woman should ever be on the receiving end of such harsh words. Really, Ron should at least try to be considerate. However, it is a habitual action for us to dig up old graves and no matter what Parkinson maybe, she has earned enough disdain like her _Draco honey_ to be addressed as such. But still…

"I wish to speak to Albus Dumbledore."

That was Malfoy speaking in an eerily calm voice. It is creepy to know that he stole the exact words from my lips.

Though cool on the exterior, his eyes sparkled with malice and ill-concealed rage. The absence of another outburst from him was sheer proof of his trust in the aforementioned former Headmaster. I'm quite agreeable with him on that account because like every magical contract, this one too must have a loophole and Dumbledore is the only savior who can help me here.

Hysterics are not my trait for the public eye and presenting a calm picture to others is an added bonus of corking my true feelings but gauging that of others with a critical eye. Yet, I cannot help but scowl at Malfoy, for in the heart of hearts I'm convinced that his sole presence at the Committee was the reason for this so-called _accident_. He is a pest and no matter what attitude I adopt as pseudo pesticide for him, the marked repugnant indulgence between us is a standing legacy of our years of hatred.

I stared blankly at him for a long time, unaware of the two people now standing beside me with similar worried faces. Ron placed a tentative hand round my waist and pulled me to his chest. Turning myself fully towards him, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. He sighed in what I assumed was contentment and whispered softly, "We'll get through this, Hermione. After waiting for so long to be with you, I'm not about to lose you in the name of some malfunctioning ancient ritual. It's just a test of our love. We'll pass, won't we?" It was as though he were searching for an assurance. His blue eyes implored me to say what he wanted to hear, almost pleading to concede. At that moment I realized that no matter what, this is the man who'll have my heart forever.

"I love you."

I said it simply because it was the truth and the shy smile he passed me was his way of portraying relief, happiness and love, all directed towards me.

"I love you too."

An impatient huff from my right side caused us both to look at a very unhappy Ginny.

"Listen, Malfoy and Co. have already moved to the inner chamber with the priest and if your love declarations are over, we too can move in there and sort things through."

Ron looked at her in question.

"What's got your nerves aflame?"

She huffed again like an enraged kitten, "Look, if you want me to be part of this stupid ceremony, please kick Zabini out of here. His constant _Miss Ginevra_ babble is driving me mad."

I patted her head good-naturedly.

"Zabini, Malfoy all are the same. They thrive on our ruination. Just ignore his jabs and he'll know that it's only a waste of breath."

Ron smiled at her and said, "Don't worry, Ginny. Once Dumbledore sorts this out, we can get away from them. For now, lets move on and resolve our marriage," he added to me with a wink.

* * *

Apparently, resolving the situation was proving to be more and more difficult seeing that our knight in shining armour a.k.a. Dumbledore has still not arrived at the Ministry. Time is slipping away and so is everyone's patience. The priest, though, was trying to explain the real reason for the events of the morning. His name, I learned a few hours earlier, is Joseph Valdman.

"Please note that The Union Of The Wands is a test of compatibility and tolerance. There is no love involved here. Your wands have chosen the partners who are most suitable for you to live with and start a family, present in the room at the time of the ceremony. It includes all factors from finances, social background, education, emotional coherence and physical relationship."

Malfoy, distressed and enraged with the events from before, was ready to burst at Joseph at the next appropriate opportunity.

"Listen up, Baldman, I do not care about compatibility or tolerance. If you don't stuff it and close your mouth, I'll personally break your bones and feed them to rabid hippogriffs. You dare even suggest that I marry that…that…_witch_, you'll regret it dearly."

"My name is Valdman, actually…"

"WhatEVER."

Ron jumped up at this and pointed his wand at Malfoy, red-faced and angry.

"Shut up, Malfoy!!! Your royalty doesn't work here, so stop spewing empty threats."

Before the addressed man could phrase up a retort, the door to the chamber was pushed open slightly and the beautiful face of Parvati Patil popped in.

"Is Ginny Weasley here?"

Ginny, who had been yawning for the past hour turned around and dashed up to the door. Both women then began conversing in soft whispers. Parvati looked peeved after sometime, shot a glance at Ron and me sympathetically and moved away from the door. Ginny returned to me after handing the bag she was carrying to Parvati.

"I've to go to the Fashion week. It's late already. I'll send Harry here to sign the witness papers after the wedding, hmm?"

I contemplated this new bit of information. Having Ron and Malfoy at each other's throats was tiring and Harry is one man they both respect. Maybe the situation will be more manageable with him. I too can do with some moral support.

Looking up at Ginny again, I replied, "All right. Just owl him if you can't catch him now."

She nodded and after hugging Ron and wishing me good luck, moved to the door.

"Miss Ginevra, surely you'll need an escort to guide you to wherever you're going."

Ginny eyed Blaise coolly before continuing her movement to the exit.

"Unlike certain other people, I don't need escorts to lead me to the lift which is a few baby steps away. Good day, Zabini."

Blaise just smiled at her and waved his hand in farewell, which was not acknowledged.

There was a tense silence following her departure and the nervousness I'd suppressed for so long began washing over me in waves. Was this ceremony necessary to marry someone you love? What if it turned out all horribly and I was forced to marry Malfoy? Was suicide legal in marriage proceedings? When is Dumbledore coming to save us? Why would Ron's wand choose Parkinson over me? Am I lacking in something to be a Weasley bride? And why the hell would my wand choose Malfoy? Tolerance and compatibility are far-fetched between us. Is this some form of cruel joke? Fate's twisted humor, perhaps. But no one can force their ideas on me. My choices are of utmost priority and there is no way that I'd succumb to ludicrous attempts by anyone to dampen my dreams.

Snapping out of the reverie, I chanced a glance at the other couple seated opposite to Ron and me. My fiancé, from the earlier quarrel with Malfoy, was breathing raggedly and eyeing the blond with contempt. Parkinson was coiled around Malfoy's arm and looking at him with docile eyes. However, the Slytherin himself was least interested in her lavish attentions and glared at Valdman heatedly.

The torturous calm in the room was broken by a slight knock at the door, followed by the entrance of Albus Dumbledore. At last. Phew! Now all my problems will be solved. No more dilemmas, no more pretence. All pieces of the puzzle will now fall into place.

"Sorry, Joseph. I was a bit caught up in the Minister's office. Wanted to discuss a new bill to be passed in the Wizengamot next session. Ah, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, and a pleasant afternoon to you both. I must say it's a bit surprising to see both of you here with Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson." Turning to the other two, he said, "Greetings to you as well. It so happens that my dear friend, Joseph here, made an urgent floo call to Hogwarts regarding a marriage debacle. If I'm not mistaken, Mr. Malfoy himself called for my assistance, yes?"

Malfoy nodded with a grim expression on his face. The bored and indifferent air ever present about him had disappeared completely- the proof of his unease was the twitching vein in his neck.

"Well, what is the problem?" Dumbledore addressed everyone at large. He looked at Valdman once more before fixing his gaze on Malfoy once again. When the blond seemed to take too long to collect his thoughts, Ron stood up and relayed all that had happened in the morning with limited details. That was how he worked. Impatient and blunt. Surprisingly, he managed to wrap up everything in a few choice words by saying that both of us were now married to one of the two Slytherins in the room against our consent, a mistake in the matrimonial ceremony. Malfoy was furious at being overtaken in voicing his problem and the nerve in his neck was pumping dangerously. I was afraid that he might burst a blood vessel and die, leaving me to fight with Parkinson over his widow status. Not that I would have put up a fight, that title rightfully belonged to Pansy.

After hearing the tragic marriage story, Dumbledore began stroking his beard thoughtfully.

"Sir, surely you can help us escape this uneasy predicament. You are well aware of the mutual distaste we share with our respective chosen _partners_."

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy, I'm well informed of the kind of relationship the four of you share. Now for this incident, I'll have to show you all something of importance. Joseph, if you could retrieve the Urn of Confraternity, I might be able to explain the situation better."

On hearing the request of the wizened old man, Valdman rushed back to the hall where the ceremony was performed mere hours ago. Minutes later, he returned with the same bowl with the strange gold liquid in which we had dipped our wands earlier. Placing it on a small stool, Dumbledore beckoned us to gather around it. We all shifted forward to form a tiny circle with Ron and me on one side and Malfoy and Parkinson on the other. It looked more like a pentagon than a circle, but the rules of geometry were the least of our worries.

"This is the Urn of Confraternity, an ancient artifact, a part of wizarding community for the past eight centuries. This is the second of its kind being used for the past four hundred years, while its predecessor, a gold vessel, was lost in the war with Egypt during the late sixteenth century. For a long time, it was used as a device to determine loyalty and detect treachery in any tight knit group of magical folk. Our forefathers were quite paranoid and not easy to trust. Hence, as a test of a wizard's allegiance to his cause, his wand was dipped in it along with liquid gold. Should the contents turn red, the commitment was genuine. Hence the name. However, with passing years, this very urn was remodeled to identify the ideal match for a person to bind in the vines of marriage. Its authenticity rivals that of the Sorting Hat and the Goblet of Fire. Almost cent percent of its decisions have led to fruitful results. But cases such as yours have happened not more than three times before, the result of a mass ceremony in Milan was the last of the three. Nevertheless, those accidental marriages gave positive results to the wed within the first year of marriage."

The information shared was interesting and had it been one of Binn's History classes I'd have participated with zeal in the workings of this Urn. But the track down which his words were going, did not emit any positive vibes to keep my happy mood. Frantic with worry, I voiced my thoughts aloud.

"Isn't there a way to reverse the effects?"

"Miss Granger and all others, before I mention the next piece of detail, it is compulsatory that you know that I'm a member of the law making body in wizarding Britain. Annulment of marriage is not a common trend in our world. However, following the three previous accidents that I mentioned before, a law was enforced. It is possible to annex the dissolution of a marriage ceremony only at the end of a full twelve months after the chosen union but…"

The confident speech ended there and Dumbledore frowned slightly looking at the bowl with the gold water.

"But?" Malfoy's impatient query sounded in the silent room.

"But the performed marriage must be lived through for that period of time without consummation if it has to be annulled afterwards. This means a real married life relationship between the chosen spouses."

"How can that be possible? You can't expect me to live in a hut with Weasley for one year while Granger here, prances around in Malfoy Manor."

Ron enraged at the derogatory remark shot up from his seat.

"My house is not a hut and in case you forgot, I'm a professional Quidditch player with enough money to raise a family. But the fact of the matter is you are the last person I'd share my life with."

"Why you sodden…"

Dumbledore cleared his throat to catch the attention of the pair and I was tugging incessantly at Ron's sleeve to calm him down.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Parkinson perhaps if you hand me your wands, you'll understand my words better."

Both glared at each other and sat down rather roughly in the assigned seats. They then handed Dumbledore their wands, who in turn dipped the wands in the bowl and began chanting in a strange language. A couple of minutes later, the golden liquid turned blood red and a few sparks were emitted from it. Then he removed Pansy's wand from the mix and put in my wand, after taking it from me. The red colour changed instantly and a faint pink hue sparkled through the urn. Wordlessly, he put in Malfoy's wand in the liquid, removing Ron's. The pink hue was immediately replaced by the blood red coloration. He repeated the same for Pansy and Malfoy's wand to obtain the faint pink shade.

"You see, this is the evidence required to show that the chosen partners are indeed the right choices for you and should any of you wish to disregard the Urn's decision, there will be no happiness and peace. The effect stays for one full year and within that time if the marriage is not established through a physical relationship, it can be dissolved through mutual agreement."

I was stunned into silence with the active chemistry practical display and the words of our former Headmaster. Ron was gripping my hand tightly and Pansy was whimpering slightly with suppressed grief. How could this happen to me? After years of turmoil, why should I be subjected to the torture of spending an year with a stranger, a man who remained an acknowledged enemy in all my years of living, a pest? Was I deserving of such horrors at a time when I thought that I had all that I could wish for? These thoughts coupled with the strain of sitting in the small chamber for so long caused me to sob silently into Ron's shirt.

"Sir, what exactly does a true married life relationship entail in this context?"

Dumbledore gave a weak smile to Malfoy.

"The social aspect of a wedding is to be fulfilled. The ceremony asks for social unity and compatibility. Therefore, it is understood that the couple are to live in the same household, share common amenities, finances and contribute to civic welfare. Also, a true wedding ceremony is to follow within a month of the Wand Union. You may try to resist the effects but the end result will be same. A demolition of sorts and a useless waste of time. If you really wish to end the marriage, it goes without saying that said marriage should come into effect as soon as possible."

* * *

After a silent lunch at the floor canteen, it was unanimously decided by us four that we shall act along the whims of the urn and at the end of an year, i.e. the first of April, 2009, the marriage would be dissolved. We vowed silently that both couples would refrain from any sort of sexual relationship and since adultery is a crime in the wizarding world, we would keep our hormones in check for the next year.

We signed the marriage contract without a word and my hands actually trembled while putting my name on the Ministry parchment. I'm officially Hermione Malfoy now. How I ended up earning that title is mind-boggling. Malfoy was rather stiff throughout the proceedings and his hands were tightly balled into angry fists. My husband's eyes hold disgust, shame, hate and malice for me. I'm sure I reflect the emotions of his gray orbs with a reduced intensity. I marvel his self-control of holding his tongue and not lashing out on Valdman or Zabini to reduce the frustration. Ron and Pansy share the same feelings as my husband and me.

Harry signed as witness for Ron while Zabini signed for Malfoy and me. In a heart wrenching moment, I returned my engagement to Ron and he did the same. It seemed as though Parkinson and Malfoy had already returned their rings. To ease the pain, Ron told me that he would leave earlier with his new wife and I could move out later with Malfoy.

Harry did not speak sweet words of comfort but merely held me while I cried.

"It seems I was right after all, wasn't I, Mr. Malfoy?"

Malfoy simply glared at Valdman for his cheeky rhetorical question.

"Don't glare that way, son. We are on opposite sides of a stranded social order and mutual distaste is not becoming of us both. You are trapped now, trapped in wedlock. Though I may never know of the real merits of that setup, I feel that with an open heart, you can overcome all hurdles."

"I don't need your advice," came the blonde's scathing retort.

Valdman just smiled kindly, "I advise monks only. This a mere observation since I've seen more Christmas days than you. The Urn has never been wrong and I assure you that you'll live happily with that wife of yours. The heart is after all a chunk a muscle. If love can melt stone and cause rain, a mere piece of flesh is hardly a matter."

Malfoy scoffed noisily before striding towards the priest and wagging a finger in his face.

"When I feel the need to join your monastery, I'll owl you the resume. For now though, I'll assure you that I will never love, least of all _her._ So, kindly throw your wise thoughts at someone who cares."

With an air of finality he turned around and walked to the door. Zabini had mysteriously disappeared a few minutes before and now Harry and I were alone in the room with Malfoy and Valdman.

"Granger, quit whining and blow your nose somewhere. The least I can expect from you is to show manners of the lowest level."

"Malfoy-" Harry began in a threatening voice.

"It's all right, Harry. The least I can accept from him is to behave like an A class git. And Malfoy, you may think that wife is synonymous with slave but let me remind you that I'm not your ankle worshipper like Parkinson. Hiding behind a snarky mask is the trait of a coward. So, stop acting as though I did something to ruin your life."

He did not say anything but ground his teeth with renewed vigor.

"Just keep your voice down and follow me."

"I don't think so. Why don't _you_ follow _me_?" Saying so, I started walking in front of him after a quick goodbye to Harry.

He followed angrily, muttering curses under his breath. We had almost reached the lift when Valdman poked his head outside the hall and screamed, "Wish you both a very happy married life."

Malfoy stopped walking abruptly and screamed back, "Thanks for your _blessings_. Wish you a very unhappy unmarried life!!! Now get lost."

The lift arrived and we stepped in. Wasn't that remark by him truly commendable? Of course, on All Fools' Day this is the greatest originality he can cook up in his bleached head.

Originality, thy name is Malfoy.

On the way down, I mull over the events of the day so far. Some words by Dumbledore and Valdman really got my attention.

We are trapped, indeed. Just like Joseph said- Trapped in Wedlock.


	5. Of Debates and Conclusions

**Disclaimer: All identifiable characters of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K.Rowling.**

**I dedicate this chapter to ****paprika90**** and ****MatoakaWilde**** for their brilliant reviews. Sorry, I couldn't send a personal thank you to both of you but here I'd like to say **

_**Thanks **__**paprika **__**for giving your opinion on the format of the story. I'm happy that you like this story so far.**_

_**Also, thank you **__**MatoakaWilde**__** for reviewing every chapter in one go.**_

_**Also, special cheesecakes for **__**wonderstruck, Captain Severus Padfeet, tennisplayerx33, GilbertDrone328, slytherinqueen23, Crazy WiAtch, marauderbabe289 and Lady of Clunn**__** for their brilliant reviews for the fourth chapter.**_

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* * *

**Chapter-5**

**Of Debates And Conclusions**

The bare necessities of life are those that even a large proportion of magical beings like us are sometimes denied of. During my few visits to the muggle world, which were strictly made for business and work purposes, I've noticed one similarity between our world and theirs. It is startling to know how prospering a profession beggary is today. Rags, filth, empty stomachs and a non-licensed tongue- a few pre-requisites to plunge into the ever-growing business of begging. While in wizarding community, the sheer lack of a wand turns you into a vagabond, the situation is far worse in the non-magical field. Muggles are sorely reliant on money to reinforce their clutch on the higher strata of society. There is no magic to ensure survival and food is not free. My feelings, which had once ghosted along the lines of contempt and pride for the lesser fortunate, have matured in time to cold indifference and at times, pity.

After all, not every one can lean back on the lap of sumptuousness. The born aristocrats like myself, should indeed adorn the cloak of sympathy while dealing with bankrupt losers.

However, any feelings of kindness and pity that may be prevalent in some deep dark cranny of my heart end there. Kindness is a trait of Potter and no matter how improved the world becomes, I for one will never resort to Potterism.

Standing in front of the main gates of the Malfoy Manor with a disheveled Hermione Granger, I realize that the aforementioned facts are indeed true. I do not feel any pity for the weeping witch beside me, who despite numerous trials, has failed to clean her leaking nose and occasional sniffles. Honestly, there is no need to cry like a baby. Didn't Weasley just vanish away with Pansy the first chance he got? One wizard's loss, a red-haired pauper's gain.

Granger doesn't hold a candle to Pansy.

I may sound like a rabid romantic but the truth is, I'm frustrated and disappointed. In the past when I doubted my judgment of marrying Pansy, I never dreamt in my wildest dreams that I'd end up with…Granger. There is a whole list of insufficiencies that I can reveal about her within a single minute. Her appearance is horrifying, her hair is a disaster, her skin tone is pathetic, her eyes are uninteresting, her nose is too small, her lips are unimpressive, her clothes are non-appealing and her finger nails are not painted or manicured. If the outer look is this dissatisfying, the real torture begins when she opens her self-righteous mouth and spews inelegant phrases.

"Stop gaping, Malfoy. This is _your_ own house. If seeing it in broad daylight is so stimulating, I suggest you pitch up a tent here and let me be on my way."

Nothing like Pansy at all.

"Well…start moving."

There it is the commanding screech like I'm an unimportant zoo animal. Of course, being with creatures like Weasel may have impaired her skill of interacting peacefully with normal humans. The git gallops away with my fiancé, while I'm left with this beast. The cocoon of miseries is probably leaking by now.

"Listen Granger, before you start vomiting your keen observations about my habitat preferences, let me get a few things straight. This structure you see, is indeed my house and it has people, items and elves that are more respected than you. A norm is to be followed here. This is not some educational institution where you need to voice your opinions and ridiculous ideas. My parents are expecting Pansy to enter the Manor with me and seeing you can be enough cause for asphyxiation. So, unless you want to spend your days in the Malfoy dungeons, _I suggest_ that you shove that attitude down the gutter and act in civilized manner. At least _try_ to achieve the impossible."

I meant to deliver the speech in a more condescending voice, but the plethora of mishaps in the morning has drained the little energy I had left. Granger just cocks an eyebrow defiantly and shakes her head in, what I assume is, rueful bemusement.

"Then you mean to say that the house is Azkaban repainted? Pity, your empty threats lost their appeal by third year. Now just give the usual command to open these damn gates or whatever and start walking. Lets get this over with."

See, back answering is her specialty. No matter what you say, she has to have the last laugh. Well, I'm not Weasley and if anyone is going to laugh, it will be me. Shrugging lightly, I press my right palm on the black iron of the wrought gates and push slightly. I turn to her and can't resist smirking.

"The entrance recognizes _purity_, if you know what I mean. Lucky that you are with me and not alone. Who knows what handicap you might end up with? Not that you are perfect now."

It was a blow below the belt, but with Granger that is how things work. It was a blatant lie. But she needn't know that. Normal commands are ignored whereas belittlement about blood and heritage get her to behave properly. I haven't called her Mudblood in years and don't plan to start now. However, if insulting is what gets her to be quiet, then so be it.

She doesn't respond and simply looks away. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears and I know for a fact that she is lamenting her predicament and not my biting remark.

Her chosen attire for her so-called wedding day is a simple gray skirt, cut off at the knees and black sandals with a humble two-inch heel. A simple white cotton shirt completes the look of a workaholic witch. To add a little to her non-existent beauty, she has a modest necklace made of what looks like cheap pearls and matching earrings. One look at her and any motivation a decent man may feel to indulge in…_acts of affection_, is squashed quite like the ambushed face of her pet feline. The only advantage of being in her company is the opportunity to listen to unadulterated lectures about right and wrong, the real punishment to be pronounced for convicts, the utter uselessness of beauty saloons and the significance of love and friendship. These are matters that do not interest me in the slightest. They are meant for the mentally incapacitated like Weasley and Potter. Weasley more so than Potter. Honestly, what man could ever date or worse fall in love with this miserable excuse of a witch. Her acid tongue is fit for verbal sparring and she would have been more successful as a barrister in a courtroom. All through Auror training and appointment, I've watched her to check for any qualities that might support the reason for her being the cherished sweetheart of a majority of wizarding England, but was sourly disappointed. To me, she is merely a looming presence; ready to prove herself at each step she takes.

She is nothing like Pansy.

The walk through the well-mown lawns of the Manor was a long trip. I'd deliberately avoided apparating in my parent's face with what could be called a ready heart attack. If anyone is to blame for the sour turn of events today, it is Granger alone. Wasn't she brought up by muggles? Why would she concede to a wizarding ceremony common among purebloods, and on the same day as my marriage as well? Wasn't she supposed to marry in a church or something? If money was a problem for the wedding, shouldn't she have eloped with her beloved redhead and saved me from ruining a year of my comfort? The only advantage of this situation is complete avoidance of any talks about marriage for the next year or so. Hardly worth it, if one has to endure torturous days under Granger's unattractive nose.

At long last, we finally reached the massive doors of the Manor. The war, apparently, had altered not only humans but buildings as well. My house, that once resembled a foreboding gothic castle, now stood proudly in the light April sun oozing with grandeur. I'm indeed proud to be the sole heir of the massive monument. Father was especially adamant on renovating the structure to go with the Malfoy name, which had been scourgified thoroughly in the events following the battle with Voldemort. The terracotta hued roof and crème walls seemed to re-define elegance. However, one can never expect a commoner like Granger to appreciate wonders such as this one, an added quality to her extended list of insufficiencies.

* * *

"Rumy welcomes Master Draco and his guest to Malfoy Manor." 

I easily brush the usual elfish greeting aside out of habit, while Granger smiles at the creature compassionately. She has a nice smile. No, not nice, a…different smile. A smile that truly reaches her non-beautiful eyes, causing her cheeks to glow. There is nothing impressive about that. One can never dominate the world with a smile. Moreover, it isn't that good or even beautiful, just fine enough to rival the angry spark that lights her eyes when in my presence. An unattractive smile, really.

It is under these circumstances that Mother entered the foyer with a half-filled crystal glass containing orange juice. She is partial to that particular citrus and often enjoys a glass or two of the juice during summers.

"Draco dear, you are late. Where is Pan…?"

The smashing of glass with the marble floor drowned the rest of her question. It seems the house is being re-carpeted before the wedding.

"Mother, I hope you know Hermione Granger."

She just stares blankly at the two of us as though we are bandits from some dark forest.

"Draco, is this some sort of April Fool Joke? Really son, you need to plot better. I send you to marry Pansy and you return with a co-Auror, making me smash my prized crystal glass as well. Nothing hilarious there. Now where is my daughter-in-law?"

_She is standing right before you_.

That wouldn't sooth the shock. Mentally cataloging ways to present the matter in a manner of subtlety and ease, I start stammering random meaningless words like 'um', 'err', 'ah' etc. Merlin, Longbottom is more eloquent than me. Just as I decided to choke up the facts, Miss I'm-blunt-and-proud-about-it-Granger decided to play heroine again, despite my prior warnings. The woman can't keep her mouth shut even if Almighty himself ordered her. Disobedient wench.

"Mrs.Malfoy, for the time being, _I'm_ your daughter-in-law, your son's wife."

Before I comment on the series of events that followed this abrupt announcement, it would be prudent to note that my mother is the epitome of calm. A hurricane could wash over and drown the entire mansion, yet she would just smirk indifferently and dismiss the issue. I've idolized her for the amount of control she has in dire situations. Dire means life threatening, stupid assignments, ordered by serpentine Dark Lords, that are sure to get you killed and said serpent is saved the thrill of dirtying his hands. Even in such situations, Mother has expressed her concerns with a mere frown. It is impossible to shock her and in my whole twenty-five years of existence, I've failed to reap a reaction such as the present from her. If anything, this marriage debacle was enough to prove to me that my dear SBF didn't suffer from malignant mental disorders due to excessive exposure to terrifying maniacs like Aunt Bella.

She opened her mouth in shock, blinked a couple of times and closed her oral cavity. She repeated this procedure at least three times before choking back a strange sound.

"Draco, what is this girl talking about? Where is your wife? Why is Pansy not here?"

At last, my brain and mouth found the slightly unstable connection and I started explaining in detail, the events of the day, including the wand ceremony, Pansy's marriage, Dumbledore's intervention and the consequent accident that was our marriage.

Mother did not take the news well. Not well, at all. The twitch of her left eye, the thin line of her lips and the frown marring her forehead are all telltale signs of her discomfort with the issue. Add to that, the non-stop twitching by Granger, standing beside me. Honestly, can this woman ever be still? Perhaps she's nervous. Nah, Granger and nervous hardly belong together. Maybe she is thinking of more smart comments to throw at my mother and me.

After sometime, Mother finally awakens from the temporary trance she was lost in. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders smartly.

"Rumy!" she called.

The elf appeared immediately and my mother pointed to the mess on the floor. No words are required. Rumy understood perfectly what is to be done and began cleaning.

Ignoring, the house-elf, Mother finally looked at Granger and ran an assessing eye over her. She shrunk her nose in distaste and addressed me while still examining the witch beside me with skeptical intent.

"So Draco, you _chose_ her over Pansy?"

The extra stretch on the verb was not lost on me because I'm not an idiot.

"Actually, my wand chose her," I replied with trepidation.

Mother shook her head lightly and directed us to the couch in the room.

"Do take a seat both of you. Miss Granger, I'd like to have a private talk with you later today, but first we need to explain the situation to the other members of the family."

Other _members_? When did Father include _members _into the _family_? Last time I checked the strength of our so-called family was limited to three. However, Granger seemed to be as confused as me and spoke her question aloud. _As if she'd keep quiet._

"Mrs. Malfoy, if I may ask, who are these members?"

"Why, Draco's father and grandmother." Mother nodded as though including Lady Malfoy into issues of this fragility was a daily experience. I was not amused. Gran was the last person I wanted to include in this.

Cybele Malfoy is a woman of many faces and attitudes. It is known to all that lunacy is a common trait of many purebred families. A fine specimen of untimely dementia was my late aunt Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black. The new levels to which madness was raised in her wake has left me astound. Aunt Bella's demoniac tendencies have been the cause of many a nightmare for even brave heart Gryffindors. However, as a member of the family, I'd adapted myself to her haywire behavior. For many years I was under the illusion that there could be no female evil after Bellatrix.

I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

My father's mother seems to have caught on the hog-wild activities of my mother's sister and took it upon herself to re-define the concept of insanity in cleaner and purer terms. If Lucius is terrifying, Cybele is a few thousand times worse. Gran absolutely loathes muggleborns, squibs and muggles. She never supported the idea of father joining the death eaters because she thought of Tom Riddle as an incompetent fool with no bank balance. Seriously, even while facing the wrong side of a wand, she'd analyze the wand owner's debit and credit till she was satisfied that said person has enough stature and money to raise a weapon against her. Killing is not her style. Condescending sarcasm and deliberate taunts meant for mental and emotional torture are her signature qualities.

There is no telling that she would even disown me for the choice made by a piece of wood against my consent. The injustice of today's world! Sigh.

My mother, after dropping the bombshell vanished into another room under the excuse of attending to other important matters. Yeah, matters like reapplying her make-up before her mother-in-law shows up. Looking at the rags plumed by Granger, I almost feel sorry for her. _Almost_.

* * *

"Cissa dear, how wonderful to see you. Lucius will be here shortly. He'd to run a few errands. Anyway, where are my sweet boy and his wife?" 

The shrill voice of my grandmother resounds down the staircase, atop which there is a fireplace and she has just come in from floo. Dressed immaculately in pristine silvery white robes, she resembles a wolf in sheep's clothing. The smile on her porcelain face is fake and her eyes cold. However, as she catches sight of me, the granite coolness softens just and she embraces me with all the grace of a well-bred lady.

"Ah, my dear boy, how I've wished to be alive long enough to see you wed and settled. It's been months since I last saw you and how you have grown! Handsome as ever!"

Flattery is another hallmark of her proud character. In this case though, she speaks the truth. I'm handsome as ever.

After the pleasantries, she turns her attention to Granger and scrutinizes her appearance much like my mother. Said mother was making frantic eyeball movements behind Gran's back. What does she expect me to do? The tornado is here, just a few more seconds for disaster.

"And you must be the lovely Miss Parkinson. An alliance with your family is highly approved. Your exquisite beauty shines even through these…clothes. We need to work on your wardrobe, dear," she smiled, "Before the wedding, of course."

Exquisite beauty? The woman is even more unstable than Aunty Bella. There is nothing exquisite and definitely no beauty about Granger. The follies of ignorance.

It seemed Granger was not happy with the insult on her wardrobe and started talking immediately.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Malfoy but my name is Hermione Granger. Due to some unforeseen hurdles, I've been forced to marry your grandson. I was set to marry another wizard. However, the union of the wands did not proceed as planned and we've been made to marry for a year before the contract can be dissolved. The whole deal was an accident and I shall be more than happy to get rid of it at the earliest. For now though, we are to marry and live as a couple for the coming period of twelve months."

"Granger…Granger…you are the war heroine? The muggleborn?"

Ah, there it is, the contemptuous Cybele makes an appearance. She all but screams on hearing about Granger's true identity. Turning back, she glares angrily at Mother and then looks at me with a questioning look, as though waiting for me to deny all claims made by my temporary wife. My silence must have spoken volumes for she starts ranting heatedly.

"Narcissa, how have you raised the boy to choose a Mud- Muggleborn over a well-known pureblood witch and an ugly one at that. How long had I insisted that your brat should settle down in France and further his relationship with the De Mores' daughter? Lucius is as lost as ever. Had you paid any heed to my words then, he wouldn't have stepped into the Malfoy threshold with thrash like-"

"Madam Malfoy, I suggest that you save you elocution adroitness for your family in my absence. Mrs. Malfoy hardly played a role in today's events. It is sheer magic on your grandson's part and mine that has pushed us into these uncomfortable situations-"

"Be quiet girl! You talk when you are spoken to. Filth such as yourself isn't worthy to talk to someone like me."

"Someone like _you_? Someone isn't the word to be used here. You are no one. After saving your family name and purity for centuries, you've earned nothing but hatred and ignorance. Besides-"

"Are you here to teach me about my own heritage? Surely, your knowledge on heritage would be limited to the atrocious callousness of the muggle world. If you think that stealing the Malfoy name-"

"Malfoy name? There is no Malfoy name. While you were busy preening in front of the mirror and smoothing wrinkles down your expensive robes, the rest of us were trying to establish peace and calm in the world. If you want to talk about heritage, you need to step away from the mask of blood purity and see the raw world as it is. Magic is not something you alone can control. While you have inherited it through blood, just like you've inherited insolence and bigotry, I've been gifted. It just proves that God deems me more worthy of magic than prejudiced hags like-"

"Displaying your intellectual skills is not going to assure you a place in the prestigious Malfoy family tree," Gran mocked, "Greedy gold-diggers like you should be cleaned from our soci-"

"Hah, all the money that is in my bank account is the result of tireless hard work and studying. You, who've never moved a muscle in labor but eaten up the wealth showered to you in the name of family and blood, are the real drawbacks of society. What right do you have to call me greedy, while all you can talk about is fattening your money bags by forcing a family member to marry some rich bin-"

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"

At long last my father makes an appearance. That shouting match between the two women has given me a headache. I just want to lie down, sleep and wake up from this nightmare. Father looks at the four of us warily for sometime and eyes a red-faced Granger critically. She made some valid points in her little debate and I was secretly glad that she stood up to Gran in that fashion. Really, I hate the witch, but she did something that I've wanted to do for years. I love Gran, don't get me wrong. But at times, even the most loved need to be shown their place.

The momentary silence is broken by Gran's sad (fake) exclamation.

"Oh, Lucius…"

* * *

Three hours, thirteen debates and eight cups of coffee later, it was decided that I'd indeed marry Granger and she would keep her job. She had fought viciously with Gran once again when she told Granger that Malfoy women are supposed to be housewives. Mother was faintly amused by her antics while Cybele was furious. Father merely conceded to everyone's request under the condition that the marriage will be broken next year on April first. Granger demanded that we move to a smaller apartment after the wedding for the sake of privacy while I'd vehemently told her that no privacy was needed in a business transaction such as this. We would sleep in the same bedroom, as per the code of the contract but on separate beds. The only part of the conversation where Gran was ready to literally throttle Granger was when she suggested that we share the wedding with the Weasel's marriage. The idea was plausible but my grandmother accused her of secretly craving for another man even when she was set to marry me. To that, the muggleborn had coolly retorted that she openly craved for another man because said man was her fiancé and long time love interest. After much talk, shouting, screaming and general ranting, the following conclusions were drawn. 

The guest list should include a separate column for her muggle relations and even if the wedding was magical, the reception would be muggle.

Ginevra Weasley would be her Maid of Honor and Blaise would be my Best Man.

The color scheme of the ceremony was to be decided after consulting the Pansy-Weasley pair.

The cuisine should include muggle dishes and the caterers could be a mixture of wizards and muggles.

Granger would wear the wedding dress of her choice, one that she chose fit for a fake marriage.

A proper attitude was to be maintained towards her guests and all wands should be handed over before attending the wedding.

I was to accompany her to meet her parents and _set matters straight_.

Both weddings were to be held at the Malfoy Manor.

I was to go with Granger to the Weasleys' Burrow and enter an agreement.

This list is to be revised after consulting the_ other couple_.

At around five thirty, Granger took her leave and I was left with the members of the family to begin the task of criticizing the departed witch for all her faults. Gran was particularly fervent to point that this is the worst association that could tarnish the Malfoy name, after the dirt with Voldemort. Mother was curiously quiet for the majority of the conversation and after dear grandmother's departure; she cornered me to ask a few questions.

"What is your opinion of this witch?"

I was at a loss of words for a few seconds before I got my wits together and began the usual tirade about the insufficiencies of the woman that is Hermione Granger. I argued that there had been a major error in the wand ceremony and Granger would never in a hundred years make me happy. Mother nodded understandingly and finally asked me the question that has now caused me to stare at the fireplace and brood silently.

"Will you be able to part with her at the end of a year?"

Her tone was almost sympathetic, like she was trying to tell me something. However, I chalked that down to one of the many confusing features of Mother's personality. There is no way I wouldn't be able to part ways with Granger. The girl is a package of nuisance, lacks any endearing qualities and has no devastating looks to capture my interest. If I can survive fourteen years with her in the background, seeking everyone's attention, a year with the fizz ball under the same roof is hardly a matter of concern.

It was just a bad day in hell that she decided to marry the redhead on All Fools' Day.

* * *

"Draco, my friend, what an invigorating exercise to finally catch you after an hour of searching." 

Zabini is the sprog of Satan, working incessantly to ruin my peaceful mood. Here I'm brooding in a quiet corner of my bedroom when the incompetent chimp who calls himself my best friend, bounces before me from the floo.

"Where were you Blaise? One minute you're chatting up Weasley's sister and the next _poof_…you just vanish. It's been six hours since I last saw you. Where have you been?"

"_Where have I been_? Where have you been? It's Pansy's birthday party. You are a special guest. Whatever are you doing in a dark room sulking like an infant?"

"I do not sulk."

"I meant wallowing in self-pity."

"Zabini, I'm warning you. One more time you say the word wallow, then you'll get it from me."

"Oh come on, Draco. What is there to be upset about? Is this about that wand thing? Mate, I personally feel that you are the luckiest man alive now."

See, the lunacy in pureblood families has affected him as well. I cannot help but snort at his comment.

"Yeah, right. Luckiest man."

"Listen Malfoy, you've roped up the most successful and most beautiful witch of wizarding London. You've stolen the prize from right under Weasley's nose."

"Who is this most successful and beautiful witch you're talking about?"

"Why, Hermione Granger, of course."

I just stare at him, dumbfounded. This fellow seriously needs medical attention.

"Blaise, mate. Are you feeling well? Do you wish to make a trip to Mungo's?"

"What? What are you going on about?"

"You've gone delusional, that's what. Honestly, how can you call Granger, of all people, successful and beautiful? There is hardly any beauty in dull brown eyes and in even duller brown hair. That nose is so common and…"

"But her need to protect the less fortunate and ardent desire to make everyone happy are qualities you'll never find in ordinary witches. She has seen the dark face of life, just like Potter. True, she may not have sparkling blue eyes and bleach blond hair. So what? That doesn't make her a less appealing woman. In the long run, it is her passion for everything, readiness for self-sacrifice and faithfulness that counts. Those are the qualities which make her beautiful as opposed to superficial beauty products."

"Oh Zabini, they are just Gryffindor trademarks. If I wanted things like that, I might as well have married some frumpy fifty-year old. She is infuriating and uncooperative. How does that add to beauty?"

He doesn't talk back for a long time. Then-

"You know, she isn't that bad looking either. I thought you preferred brunettes."

"I hate brunettes. Sure, she may be okay looking but her tongue is acid and her character rotten."

"You wouldn't know. But I think she is a better catch for you than Pansy."

"It hardly matters. So, were you at Pansy's party till now?"

"Oh no, the party was reduced to a small get together, what with her marriage to Weasley and all…" he trails off with a smirk.

"What are you hiding, Zabini?"

"Well, Pansy and Mr. Parkinson were at the Weasley home today, discussing marriage terms. Her mother was the one hosting the party. As far as I'm aware, they've already set down the details for the wedding."

"Even we…I mean Granger and I've settled a few terms for the marriage."

Blaise looked startled.

"You have?"

"Oh yes. Apparently, Granger is busy this weekend and she wants me to accompany her to the Weasley hole and her parent's house to share the big news. She actually made a list of things to do. I really think the girl has lost her marbles."

"That my friend is typical Granger to you."

I still wonder where he went after the wand ceremony.

"Where did you go after the wand ceremony?"

"Um, you know, today was the opening round of the Fashion Week. Mum was invited but she passed on the invite to me. So, being the opportunist that I'm I went and enjoyed watching those gorgeous models cat walking."

"Wasn't Weasley's sister covering the show?"

"Oh, was she? I didn't see her."

I smirked at him, "Sure you didn't."

His cheeks redden slightly and his eyes dart around the room for a distraction, a sure sign that he is flustered. After a few moments of unease, he collects himself and smirks right back at me. His sudden change in demeanor warns that I will not like whatever he is going to say next. And sure enough-

"So, what do you think of a Caribbean honeymoon with Granger?"

Ugghh…I'll show him. Jumping from the squishy armchair, I race after him with my wand. The prat.

"Zabini, I'll make you such that you won't be able to go on any honeymoon whatsoever."

He dodges a tickling hex easily and from atop the sofa in the hall, starts laughing like a mad man.

"Sure _Draco dahling_, but I'm solely interested in women. Moreover, I think you and Granger are far better looking than the both of us."

"You…"

"Good night, Draco. Get some sleep. We'll talk later. Happy Granger dreams."

He apparates right away from there, leaving behind nothing but air.

Today was one of those days when men my age become ecstatic and overjoyed. But sadly, since I'm not like ordinary men and am gifted with a lifelong jinx to survive Merlin's cruel jokes, I sigh a huge bout of air and return to my sleeping chambers. Just seventeen more days before my life changes forever.

Before I lose myself in the world of dreams, I wonder one last time about the unplanned events that await me in the near future. With Pansy, my life was pre-planned and somewhat predictable. But with Granger's entry into the equation, I find myself standing at a crossroad, thinking about non-existent choices and expected sacrifices. She is the opposite of all that I've ever wanted. She is more of the dominant type, never ready to bow to anyone. Hence, the proverbial trousers in the relationship will be tattered and torn because of the continuous tug of war between the two of us. I've no clue about her financial status but being a mere Auror with no family assets is not a quality I look forward to in my future wife. All of this feels like one extended horror novel, where I'm a mortal being tortured by a bushy haired demon.

Well, at least she has brown hair. I do have a weakness for brunettes.


	6. Enter Rumplestiltskin

**Disclaimer: All characters of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K.Rowling.**

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**Happy Reading!**

* * *

**Chapter-6**

**Enter Rumplestiltskin**

Once upon a time, there lived a man, a devastatingly handsome one at that, who spent the early hours of a Saturday, curled up in his bed without a care in the world. There was no work to be done and the man often allowed himself to indulge in the simplest fantasy of never succumbing to the waking calls of a scorching sun. He had resigned himself to the fact that celestial bodies such as the one mentioned just now, had clear-cut obligations, involuntary performance skills and thus, questioning nature's way of torturing humans was indeed futile. However, that did not indicate that the man would succumb to non-celestial summons.

The man I'm talking about is none other than yours truly. The day of the ringed planet, as they call it, was one of my earliest options of drowning myself in blissful slumber and feigning heedlessness of the _recent _turmoil in my _recently_ unbalanced life. After all, the coolness of silk sheets is the sole haven that a wizard such as myself, subjected to untimely tortures of magical bonds, unwanted spouses etcetera, can yield to.

Apparently, being partially wed to psychopathic, insomniacs can deprive one of the pleasures spoken above. If I ever _accidentally_ let slip in my comatose contemplations, my slightest fascination with brunettes, I regret to realize that I was baldly erroneous. I've developed a newfound respect for blondes and raven heads. Even redheads are passable. At least they do not have sadistic tendencies like bushy-brown haired women to trouble the most innocent of wizards. I've hardly associated with the witch for less than a day and she has already taken up the monarch stance to order me around. If she regards me as one of her sorry charity cases, who would blindly accede to all her whims, she has another thing coming. However, being the respectable gentleman that I'm, it is imperative that I throw light on the ugly turn of events that have soured my weekend mood this early in the morning.

Lying peacefully in the comfortable bed in my room, full with silk draperies and curtains, I was quite lost in the land of abyss. The surroundings were fading memories in my dreamy stupor and I was imagining myself enjoying a peaceful nap. Suddenly, there was an annoyingly familiar tapping sound on the window. Not the gentle, polite movements of a beak against glass, but the repeatedly loud woodpecker like bangs. Marveling the strength of the avian outside the window, I dragged myself from the fluffy mattress to the curtains of the right wall, parting them slightly in a state of unfinished sleep.

There, sitting comfortably on the ledge, was a huge snowy white owl that I recognized as Hedwig. Of course, I know the bird's name. The bugger is just as irritating as her master with neck tilted in a gesture of insolence. I'm very dedicated to my job and this isn't the first time I've received owl post from my heroic colleague of an Auror. The appearance of Hedwig is a sure sign of emergency, because Potter usually never risks the life of his winged companion in my hands. The man is too suspicious to think that I wouldn't hex his bird to do my bidding. I hastily suppress a yawn and open the window to let the owl in. She proudly sticks out her leg and upon delivering the parchment she was carrying, takes flight once again with complete disregard to the owl treats I summoned for her. Stupid bird. 

I looked at the timepiece on the bedside table that showed the time to be six thirty. Indeed an emergency that couldn't wait till nine or ten, when normal people sit down for breakfast. But Hero Harry and normal do not belong to the same sentence. Opening the letter without delay and with curiosity, I was shocked to see elegant script quilled by a female in place of the expected untidy scrawl of Potter.

_Malfoy,_

_I've set the meeting with the Weasleys at ten and that with my parents at three in the afternoon. The mode of transport for the latter will be muggle, so I advise you to be prepared. Tame your tongue before we leave. I shall meet you at the Auror office at nine thirty._

_Don't be late._

_Hermione Granger _

_Tame your tongue_? She is the wild beast who needs the taming. Stupid prude showing off her authority. What does she expect me to do? Blindly follow her manuscript like an obedient dog? I think not. I'll decide when to meet the redheads and her parents. The meetings will be according to my convenience. How dare she jeopardize my plans to squeeze hers in? Speaking of plans, I did have a few errands to run today and seeing that Granger couldn't keep her unattractive nose between her eyes, I'd have to rush. Not that I was submitting myself to her orders, but merely being a gentleman. Even though the lady in question is an overgrown excuse of a witch.

* * *

Juventas Zabini is my godmother. Not that there weren't others dying for a chance to own that title but her close friendship with Mother and apt use of will to skirt away from Voldemort's games, made her a unique woman, a respectable woman. My parents, at least my mother, shared similar sentiments. The only happy part of the whole deal was the satisfaction that I'd besafe with an intelligent witch such as her, if the need be. We shared a close relationship and her fondness for me has only borne sweeter fruits over the years. An added bonus of the whole situation was my close-knit friendship with Blaise. No matter how much of an annoying git he is, my life wouldn't be half normal if it hadn't been for him.

The Zabini Manor is quite high in security just like my house. An early morning floo call to the place resulted in a faint ringing sound, thus alerting the members of the household of the early visitor. After about two minutes, I bounded into what was the study of Blaise's house and was pleasantly greeted by a wide-awake Juventas, smiling broadly at me.

"Draco dear, what a surprise! It's been eons since I last saw you. Married already and I had to literally squeeze Cissa for the details. You could have made at least a short visit to your godmother's place or are you too grown up for that?"

"Good morning to you too, Juventas. And this is indeed my visit to inform you of all the misfortunes that have befallen me after a certain Ministry ritual. Surely, Mother already filled you up on all that."

"Oh yes, she did of course," she remarks, making her way downstairs to the sitting room, "And I'm quite certain that you well know that Cissa can hardly spout juicy gossip, unlike me. So, I had to contend myself with all talk about muggleborn bride, Draco's wand, stupid Ministry etc."

I knew this was coming. Of course my mother would tell her all she felt, wouldn't she? All the disappointment and grief, now that her son had brought home an unexpected muggleborn surprise. It was just a matter of time before she voiced her grievances to an eager ear.

"Mother was quite displeased."

Juventas, though unexpectedly, started laughing.

"Oh, you dear boy! On the contrary, she is grudgingly happy for you. Family name aside, Cissa has always looked forward to your happiness and she feels that if the wand ceremony chose Miss Granger over Pansy, then she is indeed a better catch for you."

I must have looked stupefied, because she patted my shoulder while smiling indulgently, "Yes, it was a surprise for me as well. However, personally I feel Hermione Granger is more suited for a man of talents like you than Pansy. Honestly Draco, how many people today would bow down at the mere mention of the muggleborn witch? If nothing, at least, the girl is far more independent than your previous fiancée," she finished dramatically.

Now I begin to understand where Blaise gets his chronic dementia. Following her mutely to the dining hall, I help myself to a cup of coffee, brought in by a house elf. Juventas talks to me for a bit and my sour mood from the early morning message seems to ease off. A few minutes later, Mrs. Zabini enquired quite innocently, "So, I believe you are here to meet Blaise, even if the early excuse was to share your misfortunes with me." At my sheepish expression, she laughs loud and directs me to Blaise's bedroom.

"He won't be happy to see you at seven in the morning, disturbing his beauty sleep."

"Oh, Juventas, I'll manage."

Saying so, I made my way to my friend's room. All my life, I've been there more than a million times. The burgundy color scheme itself has a homely feel to it. The man I came to meet was sleeping soundly on his stomach at the center of the large canopy bed. With three quick strides, I reached his bedside and slapped my palm across his exposed cheek, softly.

"Blaise, mate, wake-up."

After three slaps, there was no response. On the fifth slap, to my horror, he caught hold of my wrist and started rubbing my palm on his cheek, affectionately.

"Oh yes baby, like that…mmm…I love it when you do that…your hand's so soft…"

"WHAT THE HELL, ZABINI? GET THE BLOODY HELL UP."

With a start, he shot up and looked at me through bleary eyes.

"Oh it's just you," he took a deep breath, " WHAT IN THE NAME OF SALAZAR DID YOU DO THAT FOR, YOU NASTY, PASTY BUGGER. I WAS HAVING SUCH A SWEET DREAM. PEOPLE LIE ON THEIR BEDS TO SLEEP. YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD REASON, DRACO."

Taken aback by his outburst, I cleared my throat uneasily. Squatting down on the armchair, I sighed.

"Granger sent me a letter this morning."

At once, he stopped yawning and scratching his stomach. A devious smile tugged at his lips and the earlier volume was considerably reduced when he spoke next.

"Oooh, exchanging love notes already? Let me see, show me, show me." 

"Quit the twit act, Zabini. You know as well as me that Granger is the last person to send me a love note."

"Ah, so you wished it was a love letter? I knew it! How long have you been in love with her, Malfoy? Quick, spill the beans already."

I just stared in disbelief at his grinning face. This man was far too gone to be sane anymore.

"I'm not in love with her. I'm in hate with her."

"Oh, that's what they all say in the beginning."

"And what do they say later? ' Welcome to Zabini Mental Institute?'"

"No, they say, 'Blaise Zabini, you are my hero. I shall worship you forever as you've led me to my secret lover, whom I've craved for since I was eleven."

There is no use arguing with him. The fact of the matter is he as well as I know that he is just irritating me for disturbing his weekend sleep. I can hardly blame him. A good look in the mirror would show similar displeasure on my part at being roused so early on a Saturday morning. Blaise shed the bedclothes and stretched his arms overhead. Standing smoothly, he cleared the wrinkles from the pajamas he was wearing.

"Let me freshen up. We'll talk over breakfast."

This is what I like best about him. There is no need for words to convey my unease. He seems to have an emotional detector to identify all my bad moods. Bless him; he's the best mate a man could ask for. I just walk up to the balcony, allowing the early summer breeze to soothe my nerves while waiting for Blaise.

* * *

"You are the Best Man."

The listener, in this case, spilt his tea and looked at me strangely.

"Oh Draco, I know you are my loyal disciple but seriously there is no need to call me the best man in the world."

I shake my head and glare at him.

"You are the Best Man for the wedding."

"Well, that I'm already aware of. You told me _that_ when we were ten years old."

"I did?"

"Sure." He just shrugs nonchalantly while helping himself to some more of the bacon that is a specialty of the Zabini kitchens.

"Okay, so why did you bedroom crash into my house this early on a Saturday?"

Swallowing a piece of toast, I answer patiently, "Granger has already fixed times for the visit to the Weasleys and her parents. Indirectly, she is trying to order me around with complete disregard for any plans that I might have had for the day." 

"Right, so what plans did you have for the day? If I'm not wrong, you told me yesterday of this meeting Granger had planned."

"Exactly. She just informed me of the supposed confrontations but not the timings. Now the appointment that I fixed with the jeweler will overlap with her stupid schedule."

Having finished the bacon, Zabini calls an elf to clean up the breakfast table. After a quick goodbye to Juventas, we apparated straight to Diagon Alley, where Blaise finally asks about the jewellery shopping.

"It's nothing really. Just for a wedding ring."

Blaise stared at me incredulously as though I had sprouted an extra nose.

"Aren't Malfoys supposed use traditional family wedding bands for marriage?"

"Indeed, but that would be case if the marriage is for real. In Granger's case, it is a huge farce. So, no Traditional rings for her. Just a plain platinum band."

Blaise looked thoughtful for a moment or so. We were almost at the door of the Leaky cauldron when he spoke again.

"Who is the jeweler we are meeting, again?"

"Xavier Draloop. He is Theo's cousin, a professional jeweler from Italy. In fact, your mother is a regular customer of his."

"Hmm, Draloop you say. Mum's mentioned him a couple of times but I'm hardly interested in diamonds and pearls to pay attention. But don't you think, the Cauldron is a bit too shady for jewellery shopping?"

"Oh no, we are just meeting him here. We'll floo to the showroom after he shows up."

After a drink of buterbeer, we were interrupted by a tall gentleman with an elegant moustache. He had a pleasant smile on his face and greeted us warmly. A short conversation later, we were standing in a dazzling room with flashing lights and precious gems all around. A navy blue velvet carpet adorned the floor and the walls were spotless white. Draloop ushered us to a small room at the end of the brightly lit hall and closed the door behind us.

Unlike the main hall, this room had fewer lighting equipments and was comparatively darker. The walls were covered with what could be assumed to be steel lockers. It reminded me of a creepy treasury in a long lost castle. Blaise was staring in awe at the few lights gleaming in the darkness and the shine of metal reflected from the safes. Draloop quickly made his way towards the center of the room, conjured three cushioned chairs and flicked his wand to open the sole ventilator in the room.

"Mr. Malfoy, it is indeed an honor to be of service to you. At the outset, I wish to offer my hearty congratulations for the wedding."

Hmm, Draloop sounded like one of those shoe-licking pureblood worshippers. I expected better from him, not that I don't appreciate the gesture of courtesy but for some reason I felt as if he were overdoing it a bit.

"Thank you, Mr. Draloop. I've heard a lot about your collection from Mother and Mrs. Zabini."

"Ah, Juventas is indeed a charming woman," he turned his gaze to Blaise, "and you might be her son, Blaise, if I'm not wrong?"

Blaise simply nodded but was otherwise distracted by the strange room we were sitting in. Slowly, Draloop got up and walked towards one of the inner lockers. About a minute or so later, he re-entered carrying three blue jewellery boxes. He set them down on a glass table he had conjured and opened the first one with a small gold key, he extracted from his pocket. Within the box were six rings made of what looked like pure gold. They were completely blank with no gemstones or inscriptions.

"These are the _Ancient Rarus_ or the Ancient Rare as they are commonly known to Englishmen. These are the last remaining specimens of the collection. No other shop or jeweler has managed to retain even a copy of these. They are magical, of course. For centuries they've been earmarked as _ultimate possessio of mens , somes quod animus - a telum pro servitus_, oh I'm sorry, what I meant was ultimate possession of mind, body and soul- a weapon for servitude. Of course, the majority of charms on these precious pieces are dark but a worthy heirloom for purebloods. In fact, they prevent the spouse from indulging in adultery, voluntary separation and refusal to the husband's wishes. They are perfect for the insurance of life-long matrimony. There is no separation after one is subjected to the _Ancient Rarus_."

The man had a wicked gleam in his eyes that was quite unsettling. It almost seemed as though he were a desperate trader urging us to buy the worst of his merchandise. Well, this rarus stuff was not what I was looking for. Obviously, when one looks for complete separation with one's spouse, these ancient gold rings can be hardly of any use. What I wanted was a Granger repellent, not some band that makes her my eternal slave. It looked as if Blaise shared the same view because he was looking at Draloop disgustedly.

Blind to our uncomfortable reactions at his blatant display of stupid Dark Magic rings, the jeweler opened the second box and continued, almost joyously, "These are the _Hyacinth Sparkles_," he said, pointing to the silver rings in the case, each studded with a square cut blue sapphire or emerald.

"These gemstones are often mistaken for sapphires, however, in reality they are the rarest collection of coloured diamonds on this side of the planet. Again, they are encased in magic, but the spells are all of eastern origin, meant to foster love, passion and trust between both partners. No dark spells involved but simple Chinese magic and intricate craftsmanship. I dare say, gentlemen, that these are indeed every woman's dream. So, if you wish to steal her heart away, these are perfect for you."

Blaise looked strangely impressed by the man's speech and I felt as if he wanted to buy one of those rings for his own secret purposes, whatever that might be. For my part, I was very disappointed that a man like Draloop couldn't present a simple metal band, without all the emotional baggage attached to it. I almost growled in annoyance. Seemingly satisfied with the explanation, he turned both the open boxes towards me with an air of interested curiosity.

"So, what will it be, Mr. Malfoy?"

I ignored his question, looking instead at the third box that was still lying unopened at the side. The two cases opened so far did not provide me with the required ring and I was eyeing the third one openly.

"What rings do you have in there?" I asked, pointing to the velvet box.

Draloop almost looked disappointed at my inquisition.

"Oh," he remarked, opening the case lazily, "these are just a few random platinum bands. No magic or spells, whatsoever. In fact, they resemble muggle wedding rings to a great extent. The only reason I included them for this selection is because they have the purest platinum and most expensive diamonds to their credit. Of course, their price is nowhere near that of the _Ancient Rarus_ or the _Hyacinth Sparkles_. A collection reserved mostly for muggleborn wizards, you know those who can't afford these beauties here."

I pondered his speech briefly before convincing myself.

"I'll have one of these platinum bands."

Draloop looked so shocked, I was afraid he had been electrocuted. Blaise was shaking his head amusedly.

"Very good Malfoy, you stunned him without a wand," he whispered, eyes sparkling gaily.

Xavier Draloop seemed to have regained the contact with the present planet we were inhabiting and choked back a sound that strangely resembled an incredulous gasp.

"Um, sure sir. If you'd like I'll give you some private time to make your choice."

"Oh, that won't be necessary. Just pack up the most expensive ring from the collection. The payment can be collected from my vault in Gringotts. Do make it fast, I've a prior appointment," I dismissed the now gaping man easily. 

Turning to Blaise, I asked if he wished to shop for someone. To my surprise, he nodded affirmatively and we made our way to the outer hall, towards the necklace section.

* * *

"You are late, Malfoy."

"And when did I say I wouldn't be?"

See, if anyone still wondered why I harbored such intense feelings of dislike for my current wife (almost), this simple exchange should be enough to convince them. It isn't the callous reprimand or the twisted frown marring her forehead. It is the sheer fact that she is naïve enough to put her priorities on top and ignore everything else. No matter what the public feels, I have known since our school days that Hermione Granger is just as selfish as the next mortal. Her morals may be well above mine but the crux itself is ironic. No matter how blatant her profession to rise as the savior of the under-privileged may be, the subtle ineptitude towards reformers like myself is evident as clear day. Annoying charlatan.

"The least you could do is stay punctual. I'm never late."

I shrugged at her angry accusations, least bothered with her childish tantrums.

"Listen Malfoy, I asked you specifically to be here at nine-thirty and it is quarter past ten now. The Weasleys would be expecting us. If you conti-"

"Oh shut up, will you? Just quit lecturing and get moving already. Your stupid arguments will simply delay the confrontation further."

"I don't care. The fact of the matter is if you think that me fixing up meetings with your _perfect _fiancée is a step across the line, you should have taken the responsibility to begin with."

I was confused for quite sometime. When did Pansy jump into the conversation?

"What are you going on about, woman? Speak in riddles with some Ravenclaw. I for one would like to finish this so planned meeting at the earliest. Your screeches are already making me nauseous."

She huffed and crossed her arms in a petulant fashion. I merely raised an eyebrow, waiting for her reaction.

"Malfoy, Parkinson will be at the Burrow too. We have to settle the wedding issue today itself. The date of the ceremony is fixed already and between then and now, this is the only weekend when I'm free. I'm sorry for the short notice but if you'd stop being inconsiderate and get your act toget-"

"Of course, Granger, you can list my many personality handicaps in the whole one year we will be _married happily_. For now, lets go to the Den or Kennel or whatever it is."

She fumed silently.

"It's the **Burrow**."

"Right, I'll not remember for future reference. Now, can we just GO?" 

She squared her shoulders almost immediately. Her attire today was just as boring as last morning, yet the black trousers she wore showed that her wardrobe was good enough to pass over that of a house-elf's. The thought that I'd have to bear a fashion phobic insomniac is repugnant. Walking to one of the many fireplaces at the Auror office, we flooed to the Weasley 'Burrow'. The name, according to me is quite suitable, what with them breeding like rabbits, it just makes sense that they would live in a Burrow. 

On reaching our destination, Granger brushed the soot from her boring shirt and straightened her ponytail. I followed her actions minus the boring shirt and ponytail. Apparently, the whole of Gryffindor graduates were present there. Familiar faces of Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Lee Jordan, Katie Bell, Oliver Wood, Angelina Johnson, Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil and Neville Longbottom of all people were the only ones I recognized by name. Even Luna Lovegood was present. There were a few more I didn't know by face but was certain that they were all part of the herd. 

At once, Harry Potter appeared before us and grabbed Granger in a rather tight hug. This was followed by a hug-a-thon contest with Ronald Weasley getting top spot for the longest lasting hug, which according to me spanned over three minutes. He was brushing her hair and whispering constantly in her ear. It was only when a faint hiccup was heard from Granger that I knew she was crying. Probably overwhelmed with Weasley's body odor. Why did the girl have to hug everyone? Particularly all the _men_? And what was Weasley babbling in her ear? Was he confessing his undying loyalty to her? I do not care, honestly. This dramatic show of affection just shows great acting skills. If the two did indeed love each other as they claimed, Granger or Weasley should have already murdered him and flown away to the sunset. I've read somewhere that love is a man's strongest foothold and his obvious weakness, something worth fighting for, something worth living for, something untamable and invincible even by magic. These are not my mute thoughts lest the hearers think that I'm a trolltrop with a heart the size of Africa. Hence the reiteration- _I've read somewhere_. But seeing the two now, I suspect that love may never have been shared after all. At least not in that _sense_. 

At last, the mother of the house, who I presume is Molly Weasley, noticed my presence in her living room.

"Ah, Hermione, Draco, do come in and make yourselves at home. Let's move to the dining room. Pansy is waiting. Fred, George put in two more chairs in there."

She ushered Granger and me to a slightly larger room, overcrowded already. Weasley rushed up to pull up a chair for Granger. She smiled at him faintly and sat down with a sigh. The twins returned with two chairs, shoving one in my face and passing the other to Lover Boy. The house was hardly comfortable and the multitude of idiots in the room made it even stuffier. It was in between the chaos that I noticed a pretty black haired witch sitting forlornly at the table.

"Draco, honey, I've been worried for you. How are you holding up?"

I had the strongest urge to shake her. It was after all her fault that I was in this situation. Had she not approached me a few months back to renew our school courtship, I wouldn't have been involved with her and hence wouldn't have had to submit to my mother's wish and finally wouldn't have been stuck in this mess. Then she asks me how I'm holding up? There is nothing left to hold on to. Even the pride I had is ruined, what with obeying Granger's orders. Maybe it isn't fair to place all blame on Pansy but the Weasley surroundings seemed to have wracked my nerves even more.

Unaware of my inner turmoil, Pansy all but threw herself at me. Thankfully, she did not leak tears like Granger, more like hugged me as if seeking reassurance. She looked worn out, lost sleep, perhaps. Her twenty-fifth birthday indeed brought in a bitter surprise. I'm not too good at showing affection in public. Still, as a gesture of condolence, I wrapped a comforting arm around her waist. She looked up, seemingly unaware of the audience watching us and leaned in, pressing her lips to mine. It was a short, sweet kiss, Pansy's signature. Turning a pretty shade of pink, she adjusted her robes and sat down at her vacated chair, casting a warning glance at the others, daring them to question her actions.

Potter was the first to get a grip of the situation at hand.

"Right, um…I think, we should leave the couples to discuss the terms without interruption."

At this, there were vehement protests from the Wonder Twins, "Hey, we have to see all that happens with our ickle Ronnekins-"

"-and ickle Hermionekins-"

"-and pickle Malfoykins-"

"-and double pickle Pansykins-"

"ENOUGH! You two will leave first. Neville dear, why don't you take the others to the garden? The weather is just so fine." Turning to us, the mother Weasley said in a softer tone, "Would tea be alright with you lot? I know Pansy would prefer tea. Anything special for you, Draco?"

Admittedly, I was startled at being asked such a direct question from the woman who should think of me as a thief who stole her precious future daughter-in-law. Guess, not all Weasleys are delusional."

"Tea will be fine." 

After the last few of the clan disappeared through the main door, Weasley turned his face to Granger, reaching his hand out to clasp her palm in hers. In a rather bold move, he began rubbing his thumb along the space between her thumb and forefinger. The gesture was almost a subtle move to establish his claim on the witch. Half way through the caress, he looked at me with a warning glare as though bellowing mutely, _'Stay away, my property.'_

Stupid fool, as if I would ever try and claim Granger. The moron was even more clueless than I thought.

Granger almost sighed…contentedly? Was that what it was? And _why_ the hell was _I_ trying to decipher the meaning of her sighs and smiles? Oh, of course, we were here to discuss the sodding wedding, not for first hand visuals on _Weasley's Tips For Seduction._ However, before I could voice my irritation, Pansy cleared her throat, "Very nice, Weasley. Now if you are quite done with you poor attempts at public display of affection, I believe we can proceed with the purpose of this rendezvous.

Bravo, Pansy is amazing. No wonder I wanted to marry her. At the other woman's voice, Granger seemed to have reeled back to reality and let go of Weasley's hand with a blush gracing her cheeks.

"Sure, to begin with Malfoy and I feel that both the weddings should be on the same day, at Malfoy Manor."

"Why?" Weasley, the ever-confused clown asked.

"Um, well Ron, the dates for our original weddings were coincidental and it is too late to change that. Moreover, the actual wedding rituals should be performed within one month of the wand ceremony. If the weddings are held at the same place, common guests can easily attend both without many complications. Also, the Manor is indeed a structure with enough open space to actually host two marriages."

"Why can't we hold it here in the Burrow garden. The property is big enough as well."

Now I knew Weasley was quite deprived in the depatment of brain cells but for him to prove me right at every instant is just too boring.

"Look Weasley, it amazes me that you'd compare the land area of your _humble abode_ with my mansion and estates. I know the Quaffles you missed may have impaired your reasoning far beyond repair, but it would be easier for all if you kept your stupid land survey information to yourself."

His face turned an ugly shade of scarlet, making him an even more of an eyesore.

"HOW DARE YOU INSULT MY HOUSE, YOU DIRTY MISER!"

"Oh, drop the dramatics and start cooperating already."

"I'm warning you, Malfoy."

"Uh huh? And pray tell why I should consider your threats seriously?"

"Because," he snarled, "I've half a mind to hex your ferrety head to oblivion."

"My, my, Weasley, have you forgotten who is the Auror between the two of us? Seeing that you are mildly less educated, it would be me hurling hexes."

"SHUT UP, YOU BLOODY PR-"

"RONALD WEASLEY, YOU'LL NOT SHOUT AT THE GUESTS IN THIS HOUSE."

Ah, Mrs. Weasley to the rescue again. Really if she can shut up the idiot more frequently, I might even come to not hate her as much.

* * *

"You could have behaved yourself."

After about three and a half hours of non-stop torture at the expense of both Granger and Weasley, the list that was made yesterday was finalized. The occasional touches between the two had not improved the situation one bit. It was as if they had keep bodily contact at all times, more like a pair of eels. It was plain disgusting. And if that wasn't enough, Granger had once again begun lecturning him as soon as they left the property. The woman is so infuriating. She is ready to chide me but not her beloved boyfriend who was the actual one acting like the git he was.

"Listen Granger and listen well. I'm not a deranged poodle who'd sniff around you like Weasley. Your reprimands are plain boring and not worth my attention. We can talk when you pull your big head away from _Ronald Loveland_."

"Why are-"

"Shut your trap, witch! I already have a headache with the stupid meeting right now. If you want me to keep a clear head for the confrontation with your parents, keep your mindless babble to a minimum."

Thankfully, she did not speak much afterwards but kept grinding her teeth at odd intervals. If her note from the morning was correct, we were to take a muggle means of transport. I was not comfortable with that fact but arguing with the wench would simply waste time and increase the pounding headache. We did have lunch at the Weasleys and that was probably the only worthwhile aspect of this entire encounter.

"Where exactly are we headed to now?"

She didn't respond for sometime, seemingly lost in thought. After about two minutes, she cleared her throat.

"At present, we are in Devon,Ottery St. Catchpole to be exact. My parents have a holiday home at Plymouth. We are meeting them there. Besides them, there is someone else you should meet too."

_Someone else?_

"Who?"

"You'll see. Come along. We can apparate to the train station from that hill over there," she said, pointing to a nearby mound of soil.

* * *

At around two fifty, we were both standing in what I assumed was the garden of the Granger home. The house itself was pretty fashionable and modern, at least on the exterior. The walls were painted a neat off-white with huge glass doors and equally impressive windows. It wouldn't have taken long, even for a wizard to conclude that the inmates of the building were, for lack of a better word, well off. Certainly, the Malfoy property easily outshined it but it was a marked magnificence from the Burrow. The construction was two-storied and the faint silhouette of a fast approaching figure could be made out just outside the main door.

"Hermione, my child, it is such a pleasure to see you at last. I've been worried sick and your little note was hardly helpful. My girl, if you plan to vanish that way in the future, do try to not give others a heart attack."

Granger smiled sincerely and leaned down to embrace the person._ Person?_ It didn't seem like normal person at all. I assumed it was a he because he had a trimmed grey moustache. He held a faint resemblance to Flitwick, what with his three feet height. However, the fact that really caught my attention was the keen look in his eyes as he scanned me head to toe as though I were a test subject.

"Hmm, so Hermione dear, this is the infamous Draco Malfoy, is it?"

Now see, this man was just being foolish because if he thought that intimidating me while his head just reached my lower thigh was feasible, he had another thing coming. For a minute I thought he was Granger's father but hastily banished that thought away. There was no way this tiny man could snag a tall girl and impregnate her to deliver a five feet seven inch Granger, and if he had married a dwarf like himself, there was no way they could produce a non-dwarf normal looking girl. Then who was he?

"That's right, Rumple. This is indeed my current fiancé."

_Rumple_? Was that his name? Maybe he was a hybridized muggle version of a house-elf. Surely, Granger would hug even a house-elf. So, her earlier actions were not questionable. The Rumple fellow addressed me at last with a sharp, "Hello, Mr. Malfoy. Pleasure to be of your acquaintance."

He extended his hand forward, probably expecting a handshake and I guessed there was no harm in humoring him.

"Glad to meet you too. I don't think I quite caught your name."

"Oh, that was just rude of me. Let's do this the professional way, shall we? My name is Rumplestiltskin. Don't bother for a surname. I was born an orphan," he remarked off-handedly, "If it isn't too much trouble, call me Rumple. I'm Hermione's flat mate and keeper if you wish to call me that. Her father and I are best friends and I've been her nanny for quite a few years now." 

Merlin, no wonder Granger is a crackpot. If an orphaned dwarf like him raised me, even I'd be mad. 

"I see."

That's all I could say, that I can see the effects of his child care. Granger, who had been quiet for some time now, stepped forward and indicated the glass doors of the house.

"Shall we move inside, then?"

* * *

This is not happening, not now, not ever. I agreed to take up a stupid brown haired witch into my house under the fake title of _wife_. I did not accede to take in her babysitter as well.

"You are not a child, Granger. There is no need in hell for him to live with us."

"But don't you see, Malfoy? Before I went to Hogwarts and after I graduated, Rumple is the one taking care of me. How do you think I manage my busy schedule? All planning and deductions are done by Rumple. I've seen him more than my parents. I live with him for Merlin's sake. It is not easy for me to neglect that fact. If I move into that house of yours, he'll come along too," she retorted hotly.

"Damn you, Granger. Do you honestly think my family members would let a muggle step, let alone live in the house. If that is the case, you are more delusional than I thought."

"If by family members you mean your hundred year old grandmother, I could care less. Even if any one of your _pureblood_ brood tries to scare him off, he can easily handle them. You are all useless without a wand, whereas Rumple is an expert at all kinds of martial arts. He would be staying with us and that is final. See you, Malfoy. Good day and good bye."

She walked off smartly to the apparition point and prepared to apparate away. Domineering wretch. 

"GOOD RIDDANCE, GRANGER."

She just turned, smiled a sarcastic smile and vanished. I could do nothing but rub my face wearily, standing outside the Ministry of Magic wondering when the definition of compatibility was reconsidered.

* * *


	7. Best Day Of Our Lives

**Disclaimer: All identifiable Harry Potter characters belong to J.K.Rowling.**

**At the outset, I wish to extend my warmest thanks to xxxcrazychickxxx, FreakyD45663, Isadora120, Captain Severus Padfeet, MatoakaWilde, GilbertDrone328, Akira M, wonderstruck, slytherinqueen23, paprika90 and tennisplayerx33 for their lovely reviews.**

**Belated Happy Easter to all. Sorry for the long wait. Enjoy**

**Happy Reading!!**

* * *

**Chapter-7**

**Best Day Of Our Lives**

**_TWIN WEDDINGS OF THE YEAR-A SPECTACLE OR DEBACLE_**

_LONDON, 16 April 2008, Tuesday_

_In a thorough reversal of the unexpected kind, the two major wizarding marriages of the season have undergone several alterations. The Prophet reported late last month of the much-anticipated Malfoy-Parkinson and Weasley-Granger weddings scheduled to be held tomorrow. It was indeed happy news for mutual friends and relations. However, in this exclusive coverage, you'll find first hand details of the new twist of events. Following the popular tradition of Union of The Wands earlier this month, the respective partners of the aforementioned weddings were swapped. In the magical world where incredulity knows no boundaries, this is hardly a matter of surprise. In essence, we have now come to know that instead of the planned nuptials, a Malfoy-Granger and Weasley-Parkinson union is to happen. Mr. Draco Malfoy himself, who was busy attending to wedding matters whilst holding a meeting with the future parents-in-law along with Miss Hermione Granger at a stylish wizarding restaurant, Culinary Charms, confirmed the news. It is indeed creditable how information, this big, could be hushed up smoothly by all involved._

_War hero and close friend of Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, Harry Potter clearly stated in an interview that the couples, though not quite happy with the turn of events, have accepted the marriage grudgingly._

_A Prophet alumnus, Rita Skeeter, finds the whole episode intriguing. As a close acquaintance of Hermione Granger, Skeeter firmly believes that there may be dark play by the Malfoys. " It is rather suspicious that an accident of this kind should take place this close to the date of the wedding. If indeed the fault lies in misdirected magic, the Ministry is to take stringent action. In an age of lycanthropic cures, one mustn't fold up and adapt such primeval measures. If the policy of the government is to force young men and women to marry against their will, the justness of the Ministry is to be judged."_

_The venue for both weddings is the infamous residential mansion of the Malfoys', popularly known as Malfoy Manor. This information was intercepted from one of the wedding cards that a patron of your worthy daily graciously offered. The house has been in the dark for many years now, ever since the demise of Tom Marvolo Riddle. It was adjudged fourth on the latest list of Significant Architectural Wonders of 2008, following Ministry Of Magic, Gringotts and Hogwarts. The estates themselves are estimated to be stretched to a humongous seven hundred acres, with the main garden surrounding the mansion occupying about ten acres of the land area. The exquisite beauty of the grounds is a sight to behold as one of our sources reports._

_A short talk with Lucius Malfoy, long time Ministry associate and industrialist, revealed that his son's marriage has been fully approved by the family members. Meanwhile, the Weasleys or Hermione Granger has refused to comment._

_Miss Parkinson is currently in France, enjoying the last day of her single status. Her close relationship with Mr. Malfoy has been in the news many times before and the sudden shift to a Quidditch player is a marked difference for the vivacious beauty. Her comment to Witch Weekly as per last Monday provides an insight into the secret longing she still harbors for her ex-fiancé, "Draco has always loved me and it will take more than **mere** Hermione Granger to stop it."_

_While many are enraged by Parkinson's words and inappropriate use of an adjective for Miss Granger, the witch addressed has thus far shied the limelight. The brave heart brunette has earned her kicks in modern society with the title of the Youngest Female Auror to be recruited since ever, incessant efforts to pull up the status of house-elves, monthly donation to the werewolf foundation and an ardent participation in the Education Forum founded in 2003 to prepare the layout for syllabi for wizarding schools everywhere. Besides a revered list of accomplishments to her credit, her new name as Lady Malfoy is sure to intensify the spark she has succeeded in creating in the wizarding world at the young age of twenty-five._

_With mere hours left for the auspicious occurrence, one wonders what the participants of this ploy wish to prove. The picture is distorted with blurry hues. The public at large is sure to be astounded by the unlikely, or should it be ugly, turn of events. Nevertheless, the untimely debacle would indeed be a spectacle, one that may leave a mark long after completion. For full coverage of the events, follow the special publication, '**LifeStyle** issued by the Prophet._

_Includes:_

_Ronald Weasley changes jersey number- pg.3_

_Pansy Parkinson buys costly hybrid Pomeranian at Paris Dog Show-pg.6_

_Harry Potter-Re-elected as Most Eligible Bachelor for Witch Weekly, week 1324- pg.7_

_Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy at Culinary Charms-pg.8_

_Wedding Planners' Feud-pg.10._

"Honestly, Harry do you have no other job than reading that trash?"

My flat was in uproar for the past hour. Ten cups of steady caffeine haven't alleviated the stress a pinch and the non-stop stream of wedding well-wishers had already shut down my normal functioning brain. As if the pre-marital stress was insufficient, I've had to endure the garbage print read aloud by Harry, nonetheless. My dearest friend was here for moral support, though the only support he has provided was cleaning the refrigerator by eating up all the butterscotch ice cream I'd bought in for a hot summer day. He said I should take it as a personal treat for him, now that he was the most eligible bachelor of London.

"This is hardly trash. It is nothing like the article in March. They have an entire page devoted to my interview for the Witch magazine."

"Oh, of course. Such valuable information, pertaining to my wedding, no less."

"Malfoy's sarcasm rubbing off on you, eh?"

I thought I'd scream if I heard the prat's name once again this morning. Bad enough that he frolics around demanding my attendance for useless things like his mother's tea party, my best friend himself had been going on about my future with Malfoy. Not that I'm against money and stature but hearing Harry supporting the wedding, even if it was to comfort me, was the last thing I needed to listen to.

With no coffee or butterscotch left for me, I stared at him in an accusatory fashion. He didn't seem to notice and continued to read the article entailing all the bodily traits that made him every woman's man. He was always self-conscious in a way, more so than Ronald. As opposed to many wizards who found the longing gaze of females as a hint to proceed to the next level, my green-eyed friend was always cautious with relationships. It is indeed startling to know that of the three of us, he is the one still unmarried. He presented the shield of an uncaring youth that might have fooled disaccustomed eyes but my trained looks and timely visits to the ophthalmologist have turned me immune to his half-hearted attempts. He was scared, to commit, to devote, to give his heart. I wished that at least the short more-than-friendly relationship between him and Luna would work out.

"Hermione, I think we ran out of coffee, dear. Any other beverage you want me to get you?"

"Thanks Rumple. But I think I can manage without a drink. It's not possible to always partake in-"

"HERMIONE!! Where are you? We've come back!!"

Now, there was a dire need for even more coffee. If anyone had to deal with the woman who just screamed my name as greeting, it would be prudent to do so with sealed lips. She could easily talk for all the people in the room. After sharing a dormitory with her for about seven years and another seven as loose friends, it was concluded by me that Lavender Brown, though not an ideal intellect, could easily sweep off any person with her non-stop babble about everything under the sky.

Harry was the first to act after hearing the screech.

"Is that Lavender? _Again_?"

The git then had the audacity to laugh silently while shaking his head in amusement.

"Not a word, Harry. Stop laughing. This is not funny. Shut it, NOW."

"I can't help it. She already visited you four times this morning and each time she screamed the same thing. I didn't know bridesmaids were to check on the bride every hour of the day."

Before I could respond, Lavender had entered the kitchen followed by Parvati and to my surprise, Ginny. They had identical gleeful expressions like the ideal bridesmaids they were, except for Ginny, who had a look of exasperation directed at Lavender. It was Parvati who spoke first.

"Hermione, what are you still doing in your kitchen? Didn't we tell you yesterday that we needed to move to the beauty salon? Honestly, darling, if we don't start now, you'll not make it to the wedding tomorrow in one piece. There is so much to be done- your hair, face, nails, ears, legs…"

"Arms, stomach, neck, eyes, nose, back, eyebrows…"

I tuned out the rest of the list and looked from Harry to Ginny pleadingly. Catching my desperation, the former stood up lightly and cleared his throat. Yes, he would save me from this nightmare. All I've been trying to do for the past week is train myself mentally for the wedding. There is no need to visit any beautician or salon for that matter because the man I am to marry hardly cares what I look like. He'd probably have eyes only for Pansy, Pansy who had disappeared to France for the best beauty care the wizarding world could offer. Narcissa had insisted that I accompany her to Paris as well to make a visit to the most renowned hair specialist, Daniel d'Longerest. I had declined as politely as I could amidst Cebele Malfoy's constant jabs about my lack of beauty and insufficiency to be a pureblood's bride. Harry had supported me then as well, saying how Parkinson was all looks and no brains while I, if tried, could easily enchant Malfoy as well. We both had laughed hysterically at the ridiculous hypothesis. The same Harry was now standing upright with a look of determination etched on his face, an indication that he would drive all three girls away and stay with me in the hour of need.

Abruptly, he looked at me and spoke aloud, "Hermione, I think I'll be leaving now."

_Leaving_? How can he _leave_? How can he desert me to endure the company of these vicious fashion fanatics? No, no, no, this shouldn't be happening. He should have been gallant and brave and asked everyone to leave me alone for the last few hours of freedom. The prat. The coward. He could easily skin off Voldemort but couldn't handle three average witches. With a final glance my way, he started walking towards the fireplace, the bemused smile from earlier still twisting his lips. Argh!! How I want to smash his nose, break his goggles and pull his hair. Some best friend he is. Stupid, idiotic, sadistic nincompoop. Butterscotch thief. I'd get him someday.

"Bye, Harry. Say hi to Luna from us, okay?"

"Sure, Lavender. Bye, all. Have fun."

With a final wink at me, he swiftly disappeared in a flurry of flames.

"All right, Hermione," Lavender began, pushing me towards the bedroom, "We'll wait ten minutes. Get ready. Quick, quick."

" Merlin, Lavender, I can go on my own. Stop pushing. Rumple, could you entertain them while I put on some decent clothes, lest they walk into the room while I'm changing."

"Of course, my dear," he ushered them to the living room, "Now Lavender, Parvati, why don't you sit down here? I'll get tea and biscuits. Jean sent those special sugar free cookies for Hermione. Would you like to taste them?"

"Sure, Rumple," Parvati nodded and collapsed on the couch with Lavender. Ginny surreptitiously tiptoed to my room, following me silently. Sure enough that the two were engrossed in a discussion about the latest designer stockings, I shut the door and heaved a sigh.

"Just relax, will you? Merlin, Hermione, you are like a ticking bomb ready to explode. Loosen up. Look at this as a normal girls' outing together."

"This is not about the outing, shopping or hair-dressing. I can't do this, Ginny. One year of my life will be wasted, my job will suffer, and my own flat will be in ruins. The apartment that Ron and I had planned to buy was sold last week. Someone, someone who is a dear friend of Draco Malfoy himself, bought our dream house. Did you know that? He probably planned it beforehand.

"I had agreed to all his ground rules about staying at his bloody mansion and what does he do? Send his beloved pal, Adrian Pucey to buy the place I envisioned as my new home. Why else would a pureblooded Gringotts employee plan to stay in a muggle neighborhood? Pucey hardly knows anything about non-magical lifestyle, and all of a sudden he develops this strange fascination for brick houses that have no sort of sorcery attached to their basement. Malfoy deliberately involved the bloke for his own sick satisfaction.

"How am I supposed to live with a man, who can't control his childish antics and inflated self-importance? Isn't it obvious that-"

Sometime during my lengthy tirade, Ginny walked up to me and clasped a firm hand atop my lips.

"Leave it be, Hermione. Honestly, do you really think Malfoy of all people would think of what you feel? You already know what he is like. In fact, I think he is more troublesome than Pansy. Not that Parkinson is some heavenly angel," she laughed, releasing my mouth, "Half the time, she ignores us all and the other half, she is screaming-Weasley, do not expect me to share your dump of a bedroom, Weasley, clean my wardrobe or get a house-elf, Weasley, show me a decent bathroom in this place, Weasley, carry me around like the spoilt pug I'm, Weasley…"

By the time she reached the fifth Weasley, I was trying hard to suppress giggles.

"Oh, honestly, Ginny. It isn't her fault that she has to marry Ron. The girl is practically Malfoy's lapdog and I firmly believe that half of his rude behaviour is because he couldn't marry the vivacious beauty," I remarked, remembering Harry's reading of the newspaper.

"Right, vivacious. Do teach me a few beauty charms and I'll show you vivacious. If Malfoy actually believes that looks are the sole criterion for marriage, believe me, he'd never have chosen Pansy Parkinson. In fact, Lavender is loads prettier than her, without make-up and THAT is saying something."

"All right, Ginny, you've offered enough support. Now I guess, we need to get a move on. Rumple must have fainted already, listening to Parvati's fashion tips."

"Hey, give the girl some credit. She is the one taking us shopping to this huge sophisticated boutique, using her influence. Some designer at that Fashion Show last month was terribly impressed by her catwalk and offered a huge discount for any purchases from his store. Personally, I think he was more impressed by her swaying backside, what with him drooling a lake every time she turned about."

"GINNY."

She shrugged her shoulders and clambered on the bed, lounging among the pillows.

"What? I seriously think that her butt is the most…fascinating part of her physique. Last week, even Dean chanced a glance at it."

"It?"

"Her butt."

"God, Ginny, I seriously don't want to know anything about Parvati's behind, no matter how smashing it is. Makes me feel like some perverted schoolboy."

"Hardly. The fact that you can appreciate body parts of other members of the female species is clear evidence to prove your open-mindedness and keen observation. It's also an attribute of a journalist," she droned on getting more comfortable on my lilac bed sheets while I browsed through hangers of dress robes, trying to decide between a purple satin and a pale yellow. After some quick deduction, I settled for a white sundress and heaved it from the closet. There was a strange odor of mothballs and I knew then that Rumple had tried cleaning the closet again. Honestly, the man could be one great nagger when need be.

"Hermione! We are waiting. Come on girl, hurry up," Lavender's sharp voice called from outside the closed door. Ginny just rolled her eyes and yawned leisurely. Leaving her on the bed, I moved to the bathroom to put on the chosen dress and be done with the incessant torture of pre-wedding day blues.

A quarter of an hour later, we, meaning the dynamic duo of Lavender and Parvati along with Ginny and I were walking down the cobblestone path of Diagon Alley. The place had undergone numerous topographical changes over the last few years, the result of a paranoid Ministry. Now, the old medieval architecture was replaced by a tasteful modern look, resembling a cleaner shopping area. However, the huddled and cramped nature of the shops could not be helped much. The trademarks of the magical alley, Flourish and Blotts, Ollivander's Wand shop, Quality Quidditch Supplies, the age-old Apothecary, Madame Malkin's Robes for all Occasions, The Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes and Twilift and Tatting's, were passed without notice by our two leading friends. They stopped short in front of a rather posh cloth shop. At first glance, it resembled one of those muggle boutiques, frequented by the elite class. If anything, I'd have to say that Parvati had very good taste. Like Twilift and Tatting's, the shop had stained glass doors topped with a shining gold banner- _Enchanted Investiture For The Fashionable_

The name was a bit…different but it was the clothes that mattered. Parvati stepped up and opened the main door leading the rest of us into the extravagant showroom. To be honest, this was the first expensive wizarding store I had ever visited. Mostly, my muggle purchasing was done with Mum in shopping complexes while wizarding clothes were normally bought from Madame Malkin's. The entryway itself was a carpeted path, running for about hundred meters, with a white door at the end. There were a few wizards and witches hurrying towards the door in front of us.

"We are here," Lavender said, stating the obvious.

Parvati pushed open the door and the sight before us left Ginny and me gawking. The room was indeed a paradise for expensive cloth shoppers. The walls were a tasteful gold color with rich velvet draping around the huge windows. Two marble staircases from opposite ends of the hall, led to the next level, where a few people could be seen bustling about. The ceiling was as high as that of a cathedral with chandeliers, adding to the rich environment. Looking to my left, I caught sight of Ginny, eyeing the store with a similar expression of awe.

"Not bad, Patil, not bad at all," she commented.

Parvati brushed off the compliment with a smile and turned to me with an unreadable expression on her pretty face.

"Now, Hermione, consider this a wedding gift from me. You have access to all levels in this establishment. The manager is a friend of mine. You can choose as many dress robes, gowns, jewellery, whatever you want but the payment will not be a bother. The lower limit for today's purchases is ten thousand galleons and there will be no excuses entertained. Ginny, you can go with her and make sure she buys some decent clothes," she remarked and started walking away before announcing loudly, "And there is a special lingerie section on the third level. It is popular among newly weds."

Before I could reprimand her for the callous criticism of my taste in clothing, she had waddled off with a snickering Lavender in her wake. Though I was gratified by her initiative to bring me here and buy me designer robes, I'd have really liked to sit at home and not be here at all. They all meant well with a bit of mischief here and there but blatantly showing their approval for this tragedy was getting on my nerves. Shouldn't they have sought out a solution to help me? Instead I'm dragged to chandeliered boutiques with sparkling dress robes blinding me. I broke out of my reverie when Ginny shook my shoulders lightly.

"Hermione, we came here to shop, not stand around staring like this were some Egyptian museum. Let's get moving."

Mutely agreeing with her, I followed behind at a slow pace, eyeing the displays with interest. A few of the clothes caught my interest but the thought of wasting a friend's money on useless articles did not sit well with me. Nevertheless, to be on the safer side and away from both Lavender and Parvati's incessant whining, I selected a few dress robes and a long, pretty gown for the reception on Thursday. Ginny was beside me, choosing clothes that she felt matched my skin tone or hair and rejecting some of my choices because they were a bit too old-fashioned.

"Hermione, lace will do you good along with satin. Cotton is hardly the type of material to use for prestigious social events."

"But Ginny, it is summer now. Cotton will be more comfortable."

"Oh, in that case, I find my pajamas quite comfortable. However, you don't see me traipsing around in my night clothes, do you?"

" Yeah, but-"

"No, it is not always about comfort. If you want to show up those orthodox Malfoys, you need to think a bit away from normal."

We bickered a bit more over random issues, not just related to clothing but in general. At the end of two and a half hours, we had stacked up a total of two for Ginny and ten different dresses for myself. At the counter, a tall blonde greeted us warmly. As the clothes were being packed, we switched our attention to the other customers around.

"So Ginny, who is your date for the wedding?"

"The usual, reliable, emergency date material!" she answered with a smile.

Date material? There was only one person who would agree to escort Ginny at such short notice. Ever since her school days, she indeed had a close relationship with the wizard. Surprisingly, she got on better with him than even with Harry.

"Dean? Whenever did you ask him?"

"Yesterday, as a matter of fact. With my hectic job and all the rush that comes with it, it escaped my notice that I actually have to show up with a man by my side for a wedding. I wanted to make it different this time and almost asked Terry, but then I heard that Padma was going with him. So, I had to settle for good, old Dean. He doesn't mind though," she concluded with a smile.

"Of course he doesn't. That guy is practically smitten with you. I've told you so many times in the past but every time you turn a deaf ear to my well proved claims."

"Well-proved, huh? How so?"

"Let's see. On all public occasions involving escorts or dates, Dean is mysteriously free. He hasn't had a girlfriend since Hogwarts and has rejected every female who approaches him with romantic intent. Not to mention, whenever we cross paths in the Ministry, he always begins a conversation with- So, heard from Ginny lately? I mean, no male can harbor such strong feelings and claim the relationship to be purely platonic."

She frowned at my loud deductions and gave me a funny look.

"That may be the case," she began slowly, " but he knows that I don't have those sort of feelings for him anymore."

I shrugged nonchalantly and deemed it best to steer the conversation away from the fragile topic.

"You know, I was really surprised that Lavender asked Neville to accompany her. Last I remember she didn't consider Neville as a man of her standards."

"Her standards? Neville is way better than Lavender's standards. He seems to have more number of proper functioning brain cells than her. Those, which can comprehend concepts other than make-up, frill and gossip. Nevertheless they make a cute couple- Beauty and the Brain."

I snorted at this. "Could you be any lame? Honestly!"

"Oh, sorry ma'am. Not everyone can master the art of nickname christening like you," she grinned, "Better yet is the fact that Parvati finally coughed up the courage to ask Smith. I mean it's almost been four years since she started salivating after him. Even when he became an Auror, she made trips to the Ministry with such ridiculous excuses like sanctioning a Flower Exhibition in 2005, which is yet to happen. Had it taken any longer for her, I'd have practically screamed at Zacharias to sweep her off her feet."

Listening to her animated chatter, I can easily forget the doom of tomorrow that is hanging like the infamous sword over Damocles. The peace and quiet would be short lived, though because even after a week filled with rehearsal dinner, bridal shower, stag's night and numerous comfort visits by friends much like the throng at the Burrow during the visit with Malfoy, I had to make a final appearance at his house tonight with my parents. The eeriness in the unexpected request was the sheer news that it was Malfoy Senior who called the last minute meeting. The man may have reformed in the public eye but an egg turned bad is only fit for the bin. Of course, his viciousness may have subdued to minimum proportions, but his prejudices had never been amputated or masked completely. Calling my parents on a home visit, mere hours before the wedding, was indeed fishy. His colorful vocabulary for insulting non-purebloods may not have been updated in a while, but Lucius if need be can be more ruthless than his evil spawn. Sometimes, I pity Narcissa, who has to put up with two clones of ultimate foul bigotry. However, my main concerns rested on the attendance of Malfoy's grandmother.

For a long time, I believed that Bellatrix Lestrange was the epitome of evil and prejudice right after Voldemort himself. If the woman could torture and threaten to kill a bunch of teenagers her nephew's age to retrieve a glass orb for her revered Master, even a rabid optimist couldn't tag her as compassionate. However, after adapting myself to a symbiotic indifference with the likes of Lucius Malfoy, who was now a vampire without fangs, I was startled to discover that the female incarnate of Tom Riddle was still in existence. No wonder, Lucius turned out to be the devil he was. Madame Malfoy was still alive, an astounding reality in itself. Her husband had died of dragon pox, as Slughorn had once mentioned in sixth year, and I've come to the bitter conclusion that the perpetual roguish distaste among the Malfoy men came from this singular woman. The thought of enduring even a minute in her presence could make any sensible person question his sanity.

The salesgirl it seemed had packed our purchases in glittery purple bags. Ginny offered to hold half the baggage while we waited patiently for Lavender and Parvati.

"Has Luna visited you yet?"

Her soft voice dragged me away from the melancholy shrouding my mind.

"No, but she sent an owl last week and came by the Ministry on Friday. Apparently, there are quite a large number of patients she has had to treat for the past month. Poor thing, she hardly stays at her own place these days."

"That's just it. This whole wedding fiasco is hard to digest and it seems a bit rushed. Only if Ron had been pigheaded enough to refuse the stupid wand ceremony, we both could have been in-laws this time tomorrow."

I was forced into silence by her statement and did not say anything else for a long time. Perhaps my lack of response caused her to try and ease the queasiness I felt or perhaps she was just being the best friend she always was.

"You know, Hermione. It might just have been fated this way."

"What are you implying?"

She sighed, " I'll be honest with you. You marrying Malfoy and Ron marrying Parkinson are the worst scenarios I've ever imagined and I curse both the Slytherins for stealing your happiness. But I sometimes wonder, what would it be like if it had all been for real."

"I'm not on the same page, Ginny."

"What I meant was, would it be that bad to try a new life with someone different? It needn't be a cliché romance with an expected happy ending. Life is all about adjustments and more adjustments and all that comes with it. Had it been like the planned happy package would you really have been happy? Remember magic is a queer thing. You'd know it better than anyone else. It has a strange," she seemed to be grasping for words, "tilt half the time. Unpredictable, basically. If something like the Union of the Wands chose Malfoy over my brother, wouldn't you just want to give it a try? Just to see how far it goes. Just to prove the age-old custom wrong? What I meant to say was…"

"Was?" I prompted.

"Was…was could Malfoy make you _happy_?"

The silence that followed her question was stony.

"No," I affirmed firmly, "Malfoy may have all the riches in the world and may be better suited for me economically, socially or even intellectually but there is always a bridge between us. A gap that can never be overcome. We are two parallel banks of a river- seemingly similar but never meant to meet. If he was capable of making me happy, capable of redemption, there would have come a time when we could face each other without hate, anger, envy or any sort of distaste. There is so much in between, slowing our progress to civility.

"As a boy, he lived in the shadow of his father's armor, while I tried desperately to put up my own shining shield to prove to him and many others that despite blood and prejudice, we are all the same, that I'm the same. Then in war, we fought on opposite sides, following a higher authority in the hopes of making the world a better place. While I tried to cleanse the mind, he stood up for cleanliness in magic and blood. Then, we worked together for a common cause at the Ministry, both as Aurors. Yet the rift that had once born from childhood taunting and cruel games simply widened, and it is so huge now that it is too late to try repairs. Malfoy lives in a land of luxury, cradled by cowardice and bigotry while I'm far down on the muddy earth.

"So, us being happy together is a logical question with a resounding no as the answer. And do you know the biggest fact that will hold us back from coming together?"

Ginny simply raised her eyebrows.

"Your brother, of course. Through all that I've endured, he has been beside me, not on an opposite parallel bank. We may have differences, but at the end of it all, I lost my heart to him. It is impossible to love another man when you are already in love with someone else. I'm a simple woman with simple beliefs. I don't need exotic holidays or expensive dress robes to be happy. A heartfelt smile from Ron is more comforting than all other riches that Malfoy may usurp. The real reason though is, the superficial wealth of any other person is hardly worth a man with as big a heart as Ron's."

Ginny was staring at me with a bemused expression at the end of the speech.

"Can't wait till next year, Hermione. I'd love to learn all that sweet talk once we are related."

* * *

At about two in the afternoon, we had wrapped up all our shopping escapades, visited a reputed beauty salon in central London and grabbed a quick lunch at Diagon Alley. Wishing me all the best for the evening rendezvous with the Malfoys, Lavender, Parvati and Ginny departed with the promise to meet me tomorrow at the Malfoy house, itself. Ginny assured me that she would take care of all the bridesmaids including Luna and check up Zabini for any last minute changes. Seemingly satisfied for the moment, I trudged to my flat to be greeted by the last person I wished to see today.

"What did you want, Malfoy?"

He was stretched out on the living room couch like a lazy cat. In one hand he held a cookie that faintly resembled the ones that Mum had bought me a few days back, the same that Rumple had offered Parvati and Lavender in the morning.

He was undeterred with my sudden appearance and took a leisurely bite from the biscuit in his hand.

"Went on a shopping spree, did you? Granger, I know you are smitten with the idea of marrying me, a fantasy come true, probably, but rest assured, no amount of clothing or… _lack thereof_…"he leered indulgently, "will make you any more appealing to me."

I was accustomed to his pathetic innuendos to brush it off easily.

"So good to know that I wouldn't have to put up any efforts to appeal to you, now that you cleared that up. Now tell me what did you want and where is Rumple?" I continued, depositing my bags on the coffee table and marching to the kitchen in search of the missing housekeeper.

"Is this the way to greet your fiancé, Granger? My, you are becoming rude as we speak. Tell me darling, how have you been?"

"Malfoy, it seems you require a pair of glasses desperately, lest you start snogging me thinking of your darling ex-fiancée."

His face contorted into a grimace and he got off the couch, walking behind me into the kitchen.

"Bad mental image, Granger. No snogs for you from me. But if you were to be a very good girl, I could teach you a thing or two to impress Weasley," he drawled, carrying the plate of cookies and depositing them on the counter.

"Enough with the games, Malfoy. Now, tell me what you want and where is Rumple?"

"Do I look like your keeper's keeper? How am I to know where that midget skipped off to with your orange fluffball?"

I paused before putting water to boil on the stove.

"He took Crookshanks? Might have gone for a walk," I muttered to myself, "So, why are you here?"

"Geez, could you be any more hospitable? The least you could do is offer me a drink and ask me to settle down."

Now, I was getting irritated. Over the last few days, Malfoy had developed this new tactic of pushing my temper with all the fake sweet talk.

"Look here you imbecile, tell me what you are doing in my flat at three thirty in the afternoon."

"Did you say three-thirty? Merlin, Granger we are late already. Come on, lets get moving."

"_Moving?_ What are you talking about?"

"Just come along, woman. We are meeting my parents and the wedding planners."

My palms were itching painfully and I had the insatiable urge to slap him twice for his inconsideration.

"We were to meet your family members with my parents, later in the evening. If I'm not mistaken the schedule was for eight-thirty."

"So, I changed it now. My father has had an urgent floo call from Germany, which can't be neglected. A meeting of sorts has already been arranged for seven tonight. As for your parents, they were notified an hour ago about the time change. Now, if your gluttonous curiosity has been sated, we could get this over with."

What do you say to a self-assuming pathetic excuse of a wizard, who takes it upon himself to ruin even the best moments of your life? As a slightly mature individual than him, I tried to ebb away an oncoming quarrel. Rubbing my temples lightly, I asked him to wait in the parlor while I cleaned up for the advanced meeting.

* * *

After about thirty minutes of uncomfortable silence at a table in a far corner of the Malfoy grounds, it was Narcissa who broke the ice.

"Mr. And Mrs. Granger, we apologize for the sudden change in plans. We hope it wasn't much of an inconvenience."

I could have laughed loud at her pitiful attempt at courtesy. The older female Malfoy, her son and grandson had identical scowls on their porcelain faces as if the tea served had been too bitter for their tastes.

"It is not a problem, Mrs. Malfoy," my mother soothed, "Mark, here has had a free afternoon and I got off work early. It is our daughter's wedding tomorrow and we would spare no efforts to make it a success."

Narcissa maintained a neutral expression. Lucius, however, smiled tightly. It was as though a smirk and a grimace were meshed together. I knew what would be coming soon and sure enough after a third sip of tea, he began in a lazy drawl much like his son's, "Mark Granger and wife, Jean Granger. I must say that this is a magnanimous moment for us Malfoys, because you are the first living non-magical folk, who have managed to survive this long within our property. Moreover, you are the foremost muggles to have established any kind of relationship with our family," he continued with a smirk, "I'm an open man and after the second war, which I assume you heard about, I've made it a mandatory rule in my life to do away with secrets. Thus, a seemingly truthful disclosure is the sole purpose of this meeting today.

"Over the past two decades, my life has undergone severe reimbursement and I'm now a changed man. I've dedicated myself to the sole cause of my family, taking necessary measures to reinforce the status of our clan in society."

There was a long pause.

"As opposed to Miss Granger's mental stand on my refusal to this wedding, I'm indeed **not** displeased about the turn of events."

There was an audible gasp from the old Malfoy mother and her graying brows furrowed together in a valley of distaste.

"Lucius-"

"However," he moved on, as though there had been no interruptions, "this does not imply any hidden appreciation for your daughter on my part. The only reason you are being entertained to a tea party in my gardens is the faith I rest on the Union of The Wands ceremony. The marriage of my only son is a matter of great importance and even though this wedding has the longevity of about a year, I want to assert here and now that their separation at the end of the said term will be highly appreciated. However, if Draco chooses to stay married to your daughter, I shall not stand by as a hindrance. If there is one thing I trust in this world, it is magic."

"What are you going on about, Lucius? Are you deftly acknowledging a long-term relationship between your own heir and a common muggleborn? Has all the sense deserted you or have you brought in a new pastime of associating with useless muggles?"

"Mother, what I decide for my son is up to his mother and me. You needn't concern yourself with the matters at hand."

Furiously, Cybele Malfoy turned her angry gaze at my parents and all but snarled, "Look here, the sooner this ordeal is done with the better for us all. If you wish to suck up high-class money through your pitiful excuse of a daughter, it would be gracious to knock other doors that might give her a chance at trying well-learned tricks. And if you ever cross these gates in the future in the name of some erroneous marriage contract, beware of what might befall your humble lives."

There was no response from the other Malfoys following the old woman's hard hit words. Lucius seemed supremely irritated at being interrupted while Malfoy himself was staring at a random bird in the distance. Narcissa had a frustrated look about her and was frowning reverently at the cup of tea. Before I could launch myself at the skrewt like witch for insulting my family, Dad stood up abruptly and spoke in his usual amicable tone, though his patience seemed to be edging away at a fast pace.

"Listen all of you. You might be lords or landlords in this remote world of magic but that does not mean we would bow down to your supremely inconsiderate attitude. We have no hopes from this marriage, as Hermione herself has clearly ascertained that the only feelings she harbors for your boy is disdain and hatred. The degree of the same may have reduced but we have raised our daughter to take mature decisions on her own. She means to respect the culture of the wizarding world and we are merely supporting her through it. Our idea of an ideal match was Ronald Weasley, who we assure you will wed Hermione at the end of this drama. She is in love with the man and this wedding tomorrow is just a façade to put up with your notion of wands and potions."

The Malfoys collectively gasped at my father's sharp tone.

"It pains me however, that even after suffering endlessly through numerous tribulations, you all have failed to learn that the world today is a global village and weaving a web of protection made from spite and discrimination will only lead you onwards to your doom. We will be present at the event tomorrow as supporters for our girl's decision. As for stealing riches from your overflowing treasuries, Lady Cybele, let me assure you that I've enough money in my bank account alone to ensure a healthy future for Hermione.

"Thank you for the tea. Good day. Jean, we are leaving, now."

Dad kissed me lightly on the cheek and Mum followed him after sharing a brief hug with me. I promised to call them once I finished up with the wedding planners.

Resisting the urge to hex the entirety of the Malfoy clan for their ruthlessness, I bid adieu to my parents and silently followed a grumbling Malfoy to another part of the gardens.

* * *

"Love one another, but make not a bond of that love. Let it rather be like a moving sea between the shores of your souls. And stand together, and yet not too near together. For even the pillars of the temple must stand apart; and the oak tree and the cypress will not grow in each other's shadow. Remember that love gives nothing but from itself. Love possesses not, nor would it be possessed, for love is sufficient unto love. And think not that you can direct the course of love. For love, if it finds you worthy, will direct your course.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to unite Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger; Ronald Weasley and Pansy Parkinson in the pious bond of matrimony. Through the course of life, now has come the moment to unite two fragments what might make your existence meaningful, by bringing yourself together with the counterpart who is sure to acquire a special place in your heart. Marriage is an institution beholding trust, faith, hope, sacrifice, and above all love."

My wedding ceremony was underway. The strange thing was I felt completely detached as the Minister for the ceremony droned on about the significance of loyalty and love in this publicized mockery of marriage. The attendance for the occasion was humungous with relatives, friends, reporters, schoolteachers, Auror institute trainers, Ministry co-workers and Quidditch players occupying the majority of the crowd. The vastness of the Malfoy gardens was indeed impressive if they could seat an audience as big as this.

Malfoy, standing beside me was spewing sugarcoated words with the usual air of cockiness and sneering down at me with his grey eyes. Catching part of his monotonous speech, I realized that it was time to exchange rings.

"…forever to be cherished. I give you this ring as a token of my love, faith and loyalty that I entrust you with. With silent promises I pledge to stay with you from this day forth, till death do us part."

The well-rehearsed wedding vows were the result of honest effort on the part of our wedding planners. I'd have to thank Elida for the hard work she had put in to make the wedding a success. Towards the left, I could see Ron and Parkinson exchanging vows and rings. Pansy looked breathtakingly beautiful. It is hard to admit, but everything right from her flowing, strapless wedding gown to the sparkling blue sapphires adorned on her person, she was indeed a sight to behold. At her arrival in the garden, Ron had stared speechlessly for a few minutes. This did not phase me, though, because Ron often had a tendency to appreciate beauty when he saw it. It was equally non-surprising to note that Malfoy, himself had stolen a few quick glances at the pretty woman. As for me, he had simply smirked in the typical condescending fashion when I arrived, while Ron had smiled a sad smile and looked away quickly.

Taking the free time as an opportunity, I looked down at the ring on my ring finger. Extremely beautiful, like those fancy rings that one sees in the magazines, it was adorned with miniscule diamonds. The piece was a bit thick and I could easily perceive that Malfoy must have spent some heavy Galleons to catch hold of such exquisite platinum jewellery.

"With the power entrusted on me by the Lord above and high order of the Ministry of Magic, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

Right, and the bride shall accept the kiss without protest, whatsoever. That was the lecture I had listened to from both wedding planners. Slightly resigning myself to what was to come, I turned to look at my groom. He leaned in and lifted my veil with two fingers, looking at me with an unreadable expression. After a second, he quirked an eyebrow and whispered, "Remember Granger, you assured me once that we would never attend our respective weddings. If I were you, I'd stop making false promises, empty words not meant to be acknowledged."

I was a bit taken aback by his out-of-the blue remark but gained my footing instantly.

"Then I believe it should be better if you forgot that past exchange, if you are keen to brush me off as you claim to."

He smirked.

"Sure. By the way, I hope you can kiss?"

Before I could tell him exactly about the experience I had in the area of kissing, he had closed the gap between us, pressing his lips over mine. It was simply a caress, no, a touch. Yet in the short time, I realized that his lips were thinner than Ron's, slightly chapped. After the exchange, he looked a minute too long at me and then, dropped the veil, straightening himself quickly. I licked my lips surreptitiously. There was no change at all; I could only taste my raspberry lip-gloss. Perhaps, the kiss had never happened, perhaps he had simply blown a bit of air to fake it in front of the others.

* * *

"This is unbelievable. When did he return from St. Mungos'?"

"How am I supposed to know? All I'm aware is that Mother invited him from his long time vacation spot in Venice."

"Venice? What was he doing in Venice?"

"Listen Zabini, why don't you conduct your interview with the man in question and leave me the hell alone?"

"Touché?"

The burst of curiosity was killing me and I approached the pair to clear up my doubts. Whoever they were talking about sounded to be an important figure. Deftly, I tapped Blaise on the shoulder and cleared my throat.

"What do you want?"

Your bald head in an oven bowl? I was tempted to voice that thought aloud, but decided against it. After all, there was no point in spoiling a perfectly calm reception setting by starting a word war with my new husband.

"None of your business, Malfoy. I just wanted to ask Blaise who he was talking about."

"Resorted to eavesdropping? Whatever would McGonagall say?"

The man could never take a clue and hibernate to some dingy hole when he was not needed. Ignoring him and his blond head, I turned to Blaise expectantly.

He smiled slyly before saying in a voice, too cheerful, "Ah, wouldn't want to miss out your first crush Hermione, would you?"

At my confused expression he turned me to a large gathering of wedding guests, amidst whom a tall blond man stood, waving his hands in animated chatter. Squinting sharply, I recognized the wizard at once. Shocked, I focused my attention on my husband who was pointedly staring at a group of female Quidditch players.

"Malfoy," I fumed, "What is _Gilderoy Lockhart_ doing at my wedding?"

* * *

**Heh, didn't expect that, did you? Well, review and tell me what you feel.**

**Thanks,**

**S.P.**


	8. A Trickle Of Acceptance

**Disclaimer: All identifiable characters of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K.Rowling.**

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* * *

**Chapter-8**

**A Trickle Of Acceptance**

Previously-

__

"Malfoy," I fumed, "What is _Gilderoy Lockhart_ doing at my wedding?"

Continued-

Malfoy, however, was too busy examining the bulging assets of the Quidditch players to pay attention to his friend or me, for that matter. I clenched my fists in sudden exasperation.

"How do they ride brooms with chests that big?" he enquired, scrunching his nose in thought. It would have seemed that the man was a reverent medical practitioner, studying the female anatomy. But the glint in his eyes was hard to miss.

"Will you stop ogling those women and tell me what business Lockhart has here?" I demanded, swinging his shoulder to face him eye to eye.

For a minute, he seemed surprised to see me, but shook off the feeling soon enough to glare at me.

"You again? Merlin, Granger can't a man have some peace here? Stop pushing me around and go away."

"Not before you tell me what I need to know," I hissed quietly, tossing a fake smile to a passing wedding guest. Honestly, there were so many people I didn't even recognize. Added to that, Lockhart of all people was socializing at my wedding.

"In case you have lost the little sense you had, let me tell you that I'm not your sodding babysitter. My mother invited him. If you are so keen to catch up on old times with him, run along already and leave me be."

"But why would she…"

Before I could gather my thoughts to retort to his rather callous dismissal, someone interrupted our conversation.

"Ah, Draco, Hermione, it's gratifying to finally catch the wed couple."

There, before us, stood a tall, imposing woman with an aura of elegance exuding such, that even the beauty of sparkling gems would be put to shame. In tasteful attire composed of a flowing royal blue robe, she presented a perfectionist's picture of feminity. The ripening passage of time seemed to have steered to an easy standstill, much so that it was hard to guess the age of the blue-eyed dazzler. Her presence demanded reverence. Even the clothes she wore spouted an aura of dominance, yet the kind smile on her ruby lips stated explicitly that the female could easily become an ally, compared to the other pureblood snobs in the wedding crowd.

I was drawn away from the dreamy admiration of this startling masterpiece by the feel of a rather warm palm, pressing delicately at my waist with minimal pressure, as if to gauge the freedom granted. Perhaps it was the unexpectedly chivalrous gesture that one expects from a recently acquired spouse, but a well-aimed glance clearly proved that his tentativeness was laced with distaste as he tried desperately to seek the approval of the charming woman before us. All thoughts of Lockhart forgotten, I mused at his agility to skip from sniveling snake to manipulating mastermind in the blink of an eye, with utter disgust. Useless actor.

"I don't think we've been introduced before," the woman said, extending well-manicured, dainty fingers and a warm palm towards me, "The name's Juventas, Juventas Zabini. I'm Draco's godmother."

My immediate reaction was to stare at Blaise, standing not too far from us with an amused expression on his face. The man was quite handsome and his inheritance in the looks department, it seemed, had a major contribution from his mother. The resemblance was so striking that I frowned at my lack of logical deduction. A long silence stretched and to not seem rude in front of this epitome of regality, I grasped her hand, feeling the soft flesh. If this woman had such an effect on females, it would be no wonder that she could charm a wizard any age if she chose to.

"Glad to meet you," I stuttered, flustered by the increasing pressure of Malfoy's arm round my waist.

"It is indeed a pleasure to meet you at last, Hermione. Blaise has often mentioned you as one of the few capable Aurors in the Ministry."

I blushed at her obvious compliment and tried a bit too hard to wiggle out of my husband's hold, who was unconsciously tracing the stitching pattern on my wedding dress.

"Juventas, would it be too bad to acknowledge your handsome godson amidst all this showering praise?"

Malfoy's sincere tone of voice shocked me and looking up at him, I saw him flash a rare smile at Mrs. Zabini.

"Ah, my boy, vanity sure is attached to your person. Though I agree with the handsome part, it's not something new. You've always been the eye-candy for a number of witches," she winked, "After my dear Blaise, of course."

Zabini, pleased by the unexpected comment, preened and smirked at Malfoy.

"Anyway," she continued, "Cissa is about to announce the wedding dance. You two better be prepared."

Moving a bit away from us, she disappeared into the throng of people with a courteous, "Hermione, it would be pleasing to have a chat with you once in a while. Do feel free to visit sometime. And get your beastly husband, if need be."

"Hey, I'm anything but beastly."

Blaise shook his head, trying to stifle his laughter.

"Oh, what she actually meant was manly," he remarked, cocking his head to the side.

Malfoy mock glared at him and let go of my waist, now that the charming woman had left the scene of drama.

"Yeah, Zabini, we all know that is a trait not present in you, apparently," he grinned.

"Whatever, Draco," the other wizard replied with a smile, "However, I hope both you and your lovely wife are prepared for the infamous wedding dance. I, myself, am looking for a red-haired witch in a green dress. Isn't there supposed to be a dance between Best Man and Maid of Honor?"

Surprisingly, he directed the last part at me and I nodded my head in agreement.

"Right then," he scanned the crowd, "MISS GINEVRA! It's time for the Best Man/ Maid Of Honor dance."

"It's the wedding dance, you fool," Malfoy scoffed.

"That's for you two," he replied, still looking at a scowling Ginny, who was none too pleased to be addressed by her full name.

"Hm, so I think, I'll proceed. Have fun Hermione," he nodded, turning to Malfoy, "Draco."

With a final swish of fabric, he sauntered off to my best friend with an ease that rivaled his mother's.

With the departure of the third party, we were left in an awkward silence, broken occasionally by the happy chatter around us. I never looked at him. I wished to say something witty, a barb to undo the sudden shift in atmosphere, but I was certain that he had resumed his gawking exercises at the Quidditch women once again. Sighing with unexpected unease, I looked up searching for a familiar face among the mass of strangers.

* * *

When I thought of familiar, I did not mean being cornered by a widely smiling Gilderoy Lockhart. Malfoy had disappeared sometime ago to refill his champagne and that was when the handsome dirty blond haired man before me made an appearance. Judging by the huge grin plastered on his face, I was entertaining the idea of him actually breaking out of Mungo's before the damage to his brain was repaired. Was it even possible to hold a smile so long? It looked as though he were posing for a photo shoot than greeting an ex-student.

"Hermione Malfoy! What an honor to finally meet you."

"Err…"

"Such a fine wedding, don't you think?" he asked staring at the decorations with an almost dreamy smile. Dreamy or senile, I was doubtful. I hoped for the former.

"Yes, indee-"

"Such a fine lad Mr. Malfoy is."

"Well, he-"

"And Lady Narcissa is just so charming, don't you think?"

"Um, yeah, I-"

"I love chocolate fudge. Do you think she ordered them at the wedding specially for me?"

_What was wrong with this man? And where the hell was Malfoy when you need him? Where had he gone to fetch champagne? Mt. Everest?_

"Even I like-"

"I once taught at Hogwarts School. You were my best student."

"Oh, Profess-"

"Along with Harry Potter, of course. Have you ever been to Venice, dear?"

"Actually, I-"

"Delightful place, that. You should visit sometime. However, the wizarding world there is marginally more prejudiced than in Britain."

"Sir, if you would-"

"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, I seem to have wandered off on a tangent. Do continue with what you started to say."

"Oh, well, I just-"

"I wonder where your husband is? I haven't talked to the young man all morning. Where has he disappeared off to, leaving his beautiful wife behind," he remarked winking flirtatiously at me.

To say I was appalled would be a major understatement. While my twelve-year-old self would have glowed under his attentions, the reality of _this_ actually happening on my wedding day was a lemon too sour to taste. Searching desperately for the man who abandoned me in the face of a major nuisance a.k.a. fraud Gilderoy Lockhart, I tried unsuccessfully to direct the conversation away from the topic of my physical appeal. Lockhart was dressed in shocking pink robes that would have disgusted fashion freaks like Pansy Parkinson-Weasley. Added to that, the saucy smile on his face was positively disturbing and he resembled those fansy stuffed poof toys I had eyed warily at a store many months back.

"Well, Mr. Lockhart, the thing is Malfoy-"

"Please do not call me by my surname. It makes me feel so old," he gushed, chuckling like a madman, "I'd prefer you rather called me Gildy."

_Gildy?_

Dumbledore often told us that one mustn't panic in the face of danger but pull up their act and face the situation like a true warrior. But given the circumstance, I felt like a trapped rabbit, looking around ceaselessly for a hole to disappear into. 'Gildy' was reminiscing his _good youthful days_, going on about his adventures in Venice, where he single handedly tackled a manticore whilst fighting a fully transformed werewolf and the werewolf's best friend who happened to be a vampire. If the story telling was not enough to induce headache, his glinting teeth ever on display, shining in the light caused me to squint uneasily. Even years later and a long stay in a ward without his memory, the man remained a marked specimen, one of a kind.

"So, have you read the sequel to my book _Magical Me_?

_Magical_? I thought the better title would have been _Mental Me_. Honestly, how could St. Mungo's be so careless as to not know of a potential patient's escape. Some good that hospital was.

His question hung unanswered, because at that moment a familiar arm wound round my waist, making me start. Malfoy ever the warm host, flashed a trademark smile at Lockhart. However, it looked more mocking than polite. Turning his attention to me, he smirked, "I see you have met dear old Gildy."

"Ah, Draco Malfoy! Just the man I wished to see," began Lockhart pompously, "Aren't you lucky to snag a glorious witch like Hermione, here? I remember her school days- always answering questions, learning new spells before her classmates, besting everyone…"

"Of course, Gilderoy," Malfoy sneered, looking pointedly at me, "How can anyone forget those _good_ old days?"

"Indeed. And you Draco. I always knew you'd do something great, and here we are."

_Great_? Surely, greatness would never associate with the likes of Malfoy.

"Yes, yes, it is great that I got to marry your favorite student. After all-"

"Have you been to Venice Draco?"

"As a matter of –"

"Delightful place, that. Pity I had to return so soon. _Magical Me_ sold so many copies there."

I have never in my life controlled laughter. Given the chance, I would have snorted out loud at the expression on Malfoy's face. He now held a confused look in his eyes and cleared his throat uneasily.

"Well, Gildy-"

"Do you like chocolate fudge, Draco?"

"Wha-"

"I just saw Mr. Potter moving about," he said, craning his neck, "Need to catch up on lost time. I'll see you two later. Happy marriage."

He then proceeded to sashay away into the crowd towards a fretting Harry.

"What just happened? And what did he mean _Happy marriage_?"

"Your guest proved his less than stable state of mind, I think."

Malfoy just gave a bored glance and shrugged.

"Right, I should have guessed that when he started talking to you," he said, raising an eyebrow. While I was busy thinking of an appropriate phrase to retaliate, he extended his hand and bowed slightly.

"Let's get this over with," he mumbled, "May I have this dance?"

* * *

The scene would have been labeled tethered, if it were not for the numerous couples swaying around us, gently with the music. I wouldn't say that I have never danced with Malfoy before, but the waltz we were engrossed in now, was indeed way too awkward than any of the usual Ministry ball dances we had shared together. For one, all our previous encounters on the dance floor resulted in either of us stamping on the other's foot or stomping off the vicinity altogether. Nevertheless, he often managed to hold himself up with an unparalleled grace. If there was ever a compliment I'd direct at him, it would have been- Draco Malfoy was an ace dancer.

However, today, there was a bit too much tautness in the muscles of his shoulders to ensure a relaxing dance. I had become accustomed to dancing with Ron for so many years now, often enjoying myself way too much than possible. Compared to Malfoy, Ron was more of a klutz, but the ease of swaying with him even to mundane jungle songs was a testament of his non-stop chatting habits and sense of humor.

Here, in Malfoy's arms, I felt nescient enough to take off right in front of all the people in the room. Glancing sideways, I caught sight of Ron dancing with Pansy with a sour look on his face. His wife, though, was ignorant of his distaste and blended her moves swimmingly with the music. Her elegant posture and subtle sensuality would have put any witch to shame. Apparently Ronald was too blind a wizard to recognize beauty when it danced in his face. No wonder he fell for a non-looker like me.

The thought brought a smile to my face, a sweet ache twinging in my heart, thinking of a similar day an year later when I'd be in his arms again.

Abruptly, Malfoy cleared his throat.

"You managed to clean up quite well, Granger."

The soft mumble was just that-_soft, way too soft_. I could hardly discern the hidden compliment in the words but had a strange hunch that he had been phrasing the sentence for the entirety of the dance. The thought startled me and forgetting all about expert dancers and loving Ronald, I focused my attention on the blond, who was adamantly staring at anything but me.

"Don't let your Granny hear that. She may disown you."

He gave a surprised chuckle and pulled me tighter against his chest, his biceps relaxing slightly under the soft fabric of his robe.

"Why Granger, I thought you'd be pleased to meet an elder version of yourself."

Raised eyebrows. "Malfoy, the only believable older version of myself is Minerva McGonagall. As for your old Gran, I'd hardly be like her. Ever. She clearly lacks the wit, brains or compassion to earn the coveted title of my elder twin."

There was his arm again, tracing the stitching patterns of my dress, stroking languidly at my hip.

"Hmm, tell me _wife_," he started with a mock thoughtful voice, "What do you see of us in the future?"

"Would better ask Trelawney about that. I've never been a good psychic."

"No, I'm serious here." And his tone implied that he was.

"Well, nothing much, actually. An year of co- inhabiting with minimum interference in each others' lives. At the end of the contract, we go separate ways, or rather rightful ways."

He beamed, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Good. I hope you know that the only positive emotion I feel for you is indifference and if you plan to whine for me after fifty-two weeks of matrimony, there would only be one thing to expect-rejection," he smirked.

"Oh Malfoy, stop your narcissism already. The last thing I'd ever dream of doing is whining, and after you at that. It would just be a day of rejuvenation to be free of you at last and return to the man I love."

He stopped then, the tightness of his upper arm muscles returning with a vengeance. The smile all but dissipated from his face and his eyes resembled the cold clouds that I had long lost hope of seeing after my school days.

"Of course, Granger. Man you love, huh? Sure."

And with an indifferent sneer, he stalked off from the dance floor, his dark grey robes swishing, leaving an abrupt emptiness in my arms.

It was hard to say whether he was angry at my comment about his self-love or confession about my love for another wizard. Perhaps it was a Malfoy tradition to not talk of other men in the presence of the husband. Was he incensed that I disregarded some age-old pureblood marriage decorum? Strange. The wizard was weirder than I thought.

I stood there, staring at his retreating form for several long minutes, trying to comprehend what I said wrong. It was then that someone tapped on my shoulder, making me lose sight of my husband. Turning around, I saw Ron smiling nervously, while holding up his hand.

"May I have this dance?"

The smile that graced my lips then would have been answer enough, for Ron sighed in relief and delicately put an arm round my waist.

"How have you been?"

"I'm doing well. Just a bit tired with the day. What about you?"

He flashed an easy smile, pulling me closer. A bit startled by the gesture, I looked around for his wife, hoping that he had not ditched her like Malfoy to come dance with me. Pansy, however, was in full element, swaying gracefully with Theodore Nott.

"I just saw Malfoy walking away," he started, "Did you two have an argument?"

"Yeah, you could say that. When is it ever that we do not have an argument?"

Ron raised his eyebrows and began moving gently with the music.

"I can't wait for the tenure to be over with. We can start our life afresh, once the drama settles down."

I smiled at his eagerness. "You sure sound desperate for a man who was just married."

"Hmm, maybe. But that is only because my bride is not who I wanted it to be."

There was companionable silence after that and neither of us spoke. The songs continued to play and we kept dancing, forgetting about our surrounding. Sometime during the entire dance, I had put my head on his chest, enjoying the feel of his familiar arms tightening fondly around me.

"I believe it is only fair that I cut in here and complete what was left unfinished."

Malfoy's drawl cut in through our peace haven and Ron impulsively pulled me closer, while looking sharply at the other man.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Tut, tut Weasley, did you suddenly forget that your _beloved_," he sneered at me, "is married to another man or is it common in your family to cheat on the spouse on the wedding night itself?"

"How dare you, sick-"

"Right. Now save your rich vocabulary of vulgarity for interested listeners," he held up a hand as though demanding silence, "You can dance all you want on your wedding day, when you share the 'I do' with her. She is a Malfoy wife now, in name, at least and fraternizing with pigheaded morons like you is not part of the job description."

And with that said, he swiftly pulled me to his side and glared at Ron loathsomely.

* * *

"That was totally uncalled for, Malfoy. Ron and I were just dancing and there was no reason for you to insult him like that."

He merely shrugged his shoulders, whilst rolling his eyes and yawning widely.

"Give it a rest, Granger. One minute I left for an emergency in the men's room,"

_Emergency in the men's room? Only Malfoy could make urination sound like some important board conference_.

"And you are hopping around with Weasley. It is not as if I killed the _man you love_. If it hadn't been for me you two would have made front page news tomorrow and I wouldn't have that as a dampener on the Malfoy name, just so you can dance around with your ex-fiancé."

"You get along well with Harry. Its just Ron that you have a problem with. I have noticed that for many years now."

"Is that so? Glad to know that you have kept regular tabs of my fellowship with other members of the male species, particularly your best friends. However, my comradeship with Potter is the sole result of our familiarity on the work field. Also, I'll admit that compared to the other gutless men you associate with, he is the only one with an organ at least resembling a brain. Redheads with Quaffles for brains are not on my list of favorite acquaintances."

I huffed and crossed him to seat myself at the sofa on the side of the room. It was six in the evening. After the terribly long reception following the wedding in the morning and the equally tiring muggle reception at the _Palm Beach Resort_ in London, we were both exhausted and lounging carelessly in the first sitting room of the Malfoy Manor. While I had barely managed to maintain the wedding look with all the bustle of the day, Malfoy was as immaculate as ever. The starched white shirt he wore looked as though it had been ironed two minutes before and the black slacks that accented his appearance were free from dust or food crumbs. The grey coat he had worn earlier was discarded on the couch beside him.

Running a lazy hand through his white-blond hair, he heaved a sigh, the only sign of toil. If it were possible to deny the appeal of his external appearance, I'd have been the first to raise my hand in consent. But sadly, I was gifted with very good eyesight and fine taste in men to admit, albeit grudgingly, that Draco Malfoy was a handsome man. His opulent features were indeed worth appraising and if it was possible, he looked even more beautiful on his wedding day. He never put in much of an effort to go easy on an onlooker's eye but the aesthetic tilt of his chin, the gracile neck, sharp grey eyes and a not too bad nose, guaranteed at least an acceptable in the female book for "Admirable Qualities Of A Male Spouse".

I would have acknowledged all these flattering sentences as well, if it were not for his self-proclaimed august mouth, spewing nonsense half the time.

"Blaise, will you just tell us why we are here? I'd like to sleep after the long day."

Blaise was standing a few steps away, whispering furiously with Ginny. It was startling to see them together without shouting at each other. Ever since the wedding dance, they had been conferencing relentlessly. This had been going on for half an hour and frankly, I couldn't blame Malfoy. The whole ordeal was tiring and now we were asked to sit here and wait.

Neither Blaise nor Ginny acknowledged Malfoy's complaint but carried on talking in hushed tones as though the future of the world was at stake. Having nothing else to do, I sat there admiring the portraits on the wall.

It seemed my life had changed in just a day and after the marriage ceremony in the morning, I was left to deliberate over the change in behavior that had come over me. There was just acquiescence in my posture, while I waited for others to dictate the next move of my life.

Just then Narcissa entered the room, carrying a little silver box with her. Like Juventas, she too had an air of superiority oozing off her and the midnight blue robe she had adorned for the day's events, polished her good looks finely.

"Draco, there is an important matter I'd like to discuss with you."

Her tone was sharp and as a gesture of recognition, she nodded once in my direction.

"What is it, Mother? I'm already tired with all the _important matters_ and wedding guests."

"Draco, this is not time for conviviality. Now pay attention. Where did you acquire the wedding ring for your wife?"

The minute the question was asked, Malfoy paled visibly, the tint of exhaustion leaving his face to be replaced by an inexplicable frown of discomfort.

"Well, it was from a distinguished jeweler by the name Draloop. Juventas is quite au fait with him."

Narcissa pursed her lips while glaring vehemently at her son.

"Tell me Draco, who gave you the idea to spend money and _purchase _a wedding ring?"

Malfoy was frantically trying to avoid eye contact with his mother. Faltering on his words, he managed to mutter a few incoherent phrases.

"What was that son? I didn't quite hear you."

I wondered why she was irate with him purchasing a wedding ring. If this were another one of the infamous pureblood nonsense, I wouldn't stand for it. If they wanted a marriage without a ring, they should have thought of it earlier. Besides, I wasn't even that fond of diamonds or platinum.

"It's my wedding, isn't it?" he garbled with false certainty, "I have the right to opt what I wish to give my _wife_."

"Of course, you do. But that does not imply that you overlook family tradition and re-instate the rules put up by your ancestors."

"Look Mother, I've hardly done anything wrong. I gave her the ring I chose to. You have no say in the matter, anyway," he managed to articulate rather tenaciously.

"Draco Malfoy, you will listen to me when I ask you to. You were married today in a perfectly public environment. If you wish to go by your own rules, I would have recommended elopement."

"Mother, would you just stop the riddle talk and get this over with?"

"Right. I want my daughter-in-law to wear the actual Malfoy family bride ring, not some cheap platinum loop."

The expression on my face mirrored the look of unreserved incredulity etched on Malfoy's. The fact that Narcissa Malfoy, of all people would insist on me wearing a family heirloom, rendered me speechless on the spot.

"No way," Malfoy muttered darkly.

"Oh, yes way," replied the elder witch in a saccharine tone.

"Mother you can't seriously expect to-"

"See Draco, it is custom that the newly wed girl wear the ring for the first five years of marriage. After the birth of the first child, the ring," she went on, pointing to the silver box, now set on the table, "can be replaced by any other that suits your fancy."

"Five years? First child? What are you talking about? This is just a frigging contract to abide by the rules of the Ministry. All this will be over by the end of an year and I intend to save that ring for my real wife," Malfoy replied scathingly, sneering at me.

"Excuse me," I piped up, "I'm sorry, Narcissa, but I'd have to agree with your son on that one. We intend to annul the marriage in all respects by next spring."

The blonde merely lifted her eyebrows in interest, shaking her head in amusement.

"You both think this will be over in a year? The _Unione dei Wands_ has never been wrong. All it's decisions in the past have proved to be rightful matches. Moreover, I daresay Hermione, that even a proficient witch like you cannot challenge ancient magic."

Malfoy gave a frustrated growl.

"Stop reproving our decisions and please listen to me Mother. Right from the beginning, I had made it clear that the marriage between Granger and me is simply a travesty to save face in front of the Ministry. All the false affection you saw between us today was an act. She is still in love with another man and I don't foresee a happy future with her. This is the last time I'm talking about _this_ and it would be prudent to not see too much into the matter. So, as I said earlier, the ring on her finger stays and we save this one," he indicated the shining gold ring in the box, "for my real marriage."

On hearing all that said by Malfoy, his mother looked faintly hurt and walked away silently with the box tucked safely to her chest. The only curious part of the whole endeavor was the absence of Lucius Malfoy from the scene. He had indeed made an appearance for the wedding, exchanged polite words with the guests at the reception following it and shown up at the resort for a period of thirty minutes. He even talked to me at the ceremony, in a monotone, of course, delivering best wishes to us for a happy future, while his son rolled his eyes. Much to my relief, Cybele Malfoy had disappeared after the wedding itself, claiming that socializing with inferior beings was not part of her daily routine.

We continued sitting there in a melancholy amidst the faint sounds of Blaise and Ginny's voices.

* * *

"All right, everything is set. You will leave at exactly eight tonight, after a family dinner at the Manor."

"Leave? Leave for what?"

"The honeymoon, of course."

"The hone- Zabini, WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT SAYING THAT WORD."

"Shut it Malfoy. I don't have time for your theatrics. A portkey has already been set up for the same. Now if you two would kindly close your mouths, Miss Ginevra will explain the itinerary for your trip."

"Itiner-?"

"Just pay attention, Draco and stop interrupting. Miss Ginevra?"

Ginny was visibly flustered at having to handle such a delicate issue. My shock had not yet subsided but the prospect of a honeymoon with Malfoy would have made A class material for a comedy show. Ginny cleared her throat uneasily and waved her hand in the air, conjuring an azure parchment, from which she read aloud.

"Okay. The honeymoon for the two of you will be held at Venezuela, South America…"

"Will be held? What is it? Some annual carnival?"

"Draco! Let her read and sit down, for Merlin's sake."

"Yes, so as I was saying, you two will stay at _Paraíso Del Mar_, the wizarding holiday hotel in Bolivar state. The stay there will last a week and from there we will arrange a second portkey to spend the second week in Athens. Hermione has already been to Venezuela and Malfoy has been to Greece before, so the arrangement should be agreeable for both of you. Also, it is likely that a tour of the Caribbean would lead to sunburns for Malfoy's pasty complexion," she sniggered.

"Hey!"

"So, it is only appropriate that you divide a part of the holiday between two countries."

"You have got to be kidding me, Weasley. Do you seriously think that I would go on a _honeymoon_ with Granger?"

"Oh, as if _I'm_ dying for some honeymoon!!"

"Hermione, if my brother can take off to France in the name of a _change of scenery_, so can you. After almost a fortnight of depression, you need it. Just look at it as a vacation from work."

"Exactly," Blaise nodded, casually flinging his arm around Ginny, who shrugged the appendage and moved a step away from him, "I agree with Miss Ginevra. You both need to take a break. Besides, you will always have surplus company to entertain yourselves."

"Surplus company? Zabini I know you are obsessed with the prospect of honeymoon, but I seriously doubt that I could stand both you and Granger."

Blaise smiled sweetly.

"Don't worry, Draco. I wouldn't accompany you to spoil all the fun. In fact, I think you would enjoy spending time with the person, coming along with you two."

"Who is it?" we both asked at once.

"Why," Blaise smirked evilly, looking squarely at Malfoy, "Mr. Rumple, of course."

"Bloody HELL!! Zabini you are so DEAD!"

* * *

"Hello! Welcome to _Paraíso Del Mar_. Sir, Madam, err… sir, if you'd state your names, I could direct you to the rooms."

"Draco Malfoy"

"Hermione Malfoy"

"Rumplestiltskin."

"Oh, the Malfoys and Guest, huh? Newly weds. Mr. Malfoy, the premium honeymoon suite has been booked for you and your beautiful wife," the stout receptionist smiled, winking at me, "If you follow Stuart, here, he'll lead you to your room.

"As for your guest, a separate single room has been arranged. Quart, here will lead you to your room, sir."

Two tall men in bellboy uniform approached us. While the darker of the two lead Malfoy and me through a spiraling gold railed staircase, the other one escorted Rumple in the opposite direction. Ever since our departure from the Manor, Malfoy had strangely remained mute, talking only when necessary. He was probably too tired by the events of the day, like me. I just wanted to drop down and sleep.

"Here we are, sir. Just a flick of the wand followed by the incantation 'Acedio' would be enough to summon one of the boys, in case you need anything. Congratulations and we hope you enjoy your stay in Venezuela. Good night."

After the departure of Stuart, we stood together in the room, eyeing the décor with wide eyes. At least my eyes were wide, Malfoy was just looking sleepy.

"I think, we can call it a night. Let me change and we can settle down."

"Why are you announcing your daily habits to me, Granger? You sleep or weep, that's hardly my problem."

"Look, lets not fight now. I'm tired and I'm sure you are too. So, we can figure out our newest plans tomorrow."

"There is no 'our', Granger. Careful with your pronouns, _wife_."

"Of course," I grumbled. The man couldn't be nice for a change but I guess, his crankiness had more to do with the long day we had and I let it slide off easily.

On my return from the bathroom, I saw Malfoy spread out like a dissected frog on the bed in his flannel pajamas, sleeping soundly.

_Aw, did he forget about me?_

"_Sectum_"

The bed divided into two at the center, moving to different sides of the room, causing him to fall face first on the ground.

"What the HELL, Granger!!"

"Oops, sorry, Honey, did you forget that tonight is our wedding night?"

At his gobmasked expression, I flung my hair over a shoulder, crept onto the right bed and fell asleep promptly.

"Goodnight, _husband_."

* * *

**_Paraíso Del Mar_ means Paradise Of The Sea.**

**Do leave a review. Constructive criticism is welcome.**

**Thank you **

**S.P. **


	9. Ruined Venezuelan Vistas

**Disclaimer: All identifiable characters of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K.Rowling.**

**Sorry for the **_**very**_** long wait. I've been shifting cities frequently and it is only now that I have somewhat settled at one place. I acquired an internet connection only recently and unfortunately it is very slow. Anyway, I'm here now and this chapter should hopefully clear up all your doubts. The story picks up speed hereafter and I implore you to be patient. A very warm thank you to all my readers. I was really happy with all the **_**anon**_** reviews as well as my regular reviewers. Thanks once again. As always-**

**Happy Reading!**

**Chapter-9**

**Ruined Venezuelan Vistas**

_Waiting for tonight…oh…_

Alarm clock is perhaps the most useful invention that a wizard named Hutchins could have made. Well, it was more of a boon to muggles because we hardly make use of squeaky metal contraptions. That would have been the case during Wizarding Stone Age, though at present, I personally would rather rear a rooster than buy an annoying alarm clock or timepiece that ruins the best moments of sleep, meaning the sleep just before wake up time.

When you would be here in my arms…

We being members of the magical tribe, possess much easier methods of time keeping and awakening. A simple wake-up charm on one's wand would be sufficient to rouse oneself from the arms of sleep and drive away the remanent vestiges of drowsiness. Moreover, all this can be achieved with the added advantage of not disturbing the other inhabitants of the same room.

_Waiting for tonight…oh..oh…ohhh..oh…._

However, expecting others to furnish such considerate behavior, would be pure idiocy, as not many are blessed with the bone of high society etiquette. Perchance, some are born with the permanent mutation of not appreciating wordly pleasures like sleep and dreams. Having survived in a dormitory with dunderheads like Crabbe and Goyle with their rather loud snores, it wasn't a new experience to be rudely interrupted in the midst of a wonderful dream of setting Granger's hair on fire, by the screech of female singers. I would never have guessed that my wife was a closet vocalist but her loutish antics this early in the morning and in another continent no less, drove all sleep away and I marched to the room from where the loud music could be heard.

Waiting for tonight…oh..oh…ohhh…

Whatever I might have prepared myself for, the sight before me was the epitome of horrendous happenings I had ever viewed in my life.

Granger was…dancing?

No, it did not include graceful moves or sensual shakes, rather an uncanny resemblance to some sort of cave dance. She was dressed in casuals consisting of a pair of black shorts and a white T-shirt. Her unruly hair was held in place by a red hair band which looked suspiciously like a remodeled scarf. Added to the strange attire were tennis shoes, stuck snugly to her feet. The music in the room was louder than ever but Granger's attempted frog-leap had me open-jawed and wide-eyed, cutting off the ability to speak, temporarily.

She was twisting her hips at odd angles, rolling her shoulders, touching the floor with her hands and jumping around with one foot raised knee level, periodically. Had there not been an urgent need to clarify her mental stability, I would have settled leisurely on the couch and enjoyed seeing her make a fool of herself.

"What in the name of _blazes_ are you doing, Granger?"

Though I was looking for a more imposing tone, the effect was ruined for the last part was drowned by an untimely yawn and the chorus of the song becoming louder than ever. Honestly, what was so special about _tonight_ anyway?

Granger, who was bending down, looked at me sheepishly from between her legs. Straightening herself, she waved her wand at the box playing the music and the room was rendered silent once more.

"Um, sorry Malfoy. I didn't mean to wake you."

Oh, of course. This might be a freak show she performed on a regular basis. I had no qualms regarding the new piece of information but indulging in her habitual actions, while normal mortals were trying to catch some sleep on an unwanted honeymoon holiday, was plainly intolerable.

"If that were the case, then you ought to have made use of silencing charms, at least on the bedroom," I grumbled, "And what is the need for this early morning racket anyway?"

"Six is not early, Malfoy."

"Pardon my negligence. I meant _very_ early."

"Oh, there is no problem in getting up a little ahead of your normal waking time once in a while. Early to bed and early to rise makes you healthy, wealthy and wise," she preached, walking around the room, gathering a towel and a bottle of water that I had not noticed before.

"Yeah, yeah, but could you tell me already why you were jumping about to some high- pitched song?"

"It's called aerobics- A form of exercise."

"_Exercise_? Why would you need to exercise? On a vacation no less."

Really, this witch was one of a kind. Whoever heard of a woman exercising while on holiday?

"Vacation or not, it is imperative that you keep your body in shape and free of diseases. Moreover, aerobics and other physical exercises relieve stress as well as reduce weight. We can never rely on our present appearance, it is sure to wilt away in a matter of years. So, to maintain the little that I have of my body and health I indulge in activities that you condescendingly referred to as _exercise_."

"Merlin Granger, relax. There is no exam being conducted here."

She rolled her eyes at me. Had it not been for our close job quarters, I would have reprimanded her for the lack of attention to my inferences of her attitude. Luckily, four years at the Department for Magical Law Enforcement have aquainted me with the infamous Granger eye-roll that often reiterated her silent demand to end a conversation.

She turned away and shook her head muttering to herself. I watched with mute fascination as she shoved the articles collected before into a small beaded bag, a bag quite small for the purpose of holding said shoved articles. The stereo on the table was shrunk by a quick wand flick, after the extraction of a disc from it.

"The song was quite unsuitable for what I had in mind, but the hotel stocks only limited muggle albums," she continued the tail end of her earlier extempore, "It's just that I could never align myself with wizarding music."

"Is that your shortcoming that you'd allow me to exploit?" I asked her with a false curious tone.

Apparently, Hermione Granger had taken it upon herself to forget the dirt of the previous day's events and lob it within the confines of the rug of ignorance. In other words, she was putting up a front of forced civility. Well, that was pretty much acceptable. This wedding day was not one that I would ever dream of including in my hypothetical autobiography, no matter what age I write it at. Not only was the bride not to my taste, but the loony attitude of Lockhart and Mother's cladestine comments ruined the taste of even the cuisine served. I was later informed by Father, no less, that my dear once-upon-a-time-vain professor had suffered traumatic mental _disorders_ (plural) while diving underground with Potter and Weasley to kill the monster of Slytherin in second year. He had seeked treatment in Mungo's and after eight years of healing, he had managed to recover the majority of his lost memories.

However, the damage by Weasley's malfunctioning wand was such that the memories regained were muddled in an order quite unlike the one that he had cherished earlier. He was adviced to approach a few practitioners in Venice to rectify the problem, though not much could be achieved. He was later discharged from the hospital under the approval of the institution that he was in no way a harm to society.

Mother had always admired his gaudy outlook and rather pink wardrobe. On crossing paths in Italy, she had lazily requested his attendance for the ceremony under the norm of expected formality, but the wizard with muddled thoughts took her up on the offer and made an appearnce at the wedding.

As for Mother, my marriage to Granger was not as disturbing to her as I had presumed. The scheming female just looked it up as an apt scenario to exploit for more interference into my life. She was, for all intents and purposes, practically compelling me to settle down with the brunette. However, I have never bowed down to the whims of others and the polite consideration for Mother was finished after I married Hermione Granger.

My inquisition remained unacknowledged, for at that moment, the doorbell rang. The sound was pleasant and complimented the classy interior of the suite we were housed in. It was only now that I paid attention to the beautiful marble floor and the rich emulsion tones on the walls. Clearly, Blaise had considered my tastes before booking a place like this for honeymoon.

Distracted by the bell, Granger strode purposefully to the door and opened it wide as though she had expected someone familiar to pop by and say Good Morning. I was, however, disappointed when the upper torso of the guest did not materialize above my wife's head. It might have been one of the boys at the hotel enquiring for breakfast. With height that couldn't compete with Granger's average stature, they were sure to remain incompetent.

"Hermione, dear, you are up! How wonderful!"

_Of course_, how could I overlook the fact that her keeper or babysitter or surrogate father or whatever dwarf was accompanying us. My lips involuntarily turned to a sneer. I had had quite enough of the imbecile at the party yesterday, with his obonoxious mannerism, acting as though he were the benefactor of the Malfoy family. Not only had he detained me at the drinks table last evening, spewing all golden qualities about his _darling Hermione_ but he even had the gall to mock my idea of a happy life. So what if I wished for a beautiful wife with more substance and less tongue, taking care of me while staying at the Manor? So what if Granger did not fit into any of my pre-requisites? She was no ideal woman for me, a fact agreed to by her as well.

"Rumple! I was just planning to come to your room. How do you like the hotel so far?" Her cheery voice made me cringe.

"Oh, it's pretty fabulous. The décor is beautiful and the hosts are warm-hearted. That Blaise is one good man, what exquisite taste he has!"

_Please shut it already_, I prayed silently. My mind at wee hours was unaccustomed to tolerating compliments to my best friend by an ordinary muggle.

Sometime during my mute contemplation, the tiny man had walked in and settled on the couch, stretching lazily like a diminutive reptile. His attire was surprisingly similar to that of Granger's with the sole difference that I couldn't decipher his lower body ensemble as pants or shorts. At last he seemed to have noticed my presence in the living room and turned excited black eyes at me.

"Ah, Draco, are you accompanying us as well? That would be a pleasant change."

"_Accompanying_?" Surely they wouldn't plan sightseeing this early in the morning.

Behind me, I could almost feel Granger stiffen and collect the beaded bag from the glass stool she had deposited it on earlier. Something was clearly wrong here. I wanted her to clear things quickly so that I could get on with whatever I would think of doing later.

"Oh, um Malfoy, I forgot to mention it before but we were planning to leave for a jog this morning. It has been a habit for years. So, we'll be leaving now."

I was taken aback by the latest bit of information fed by her. A jog, was it? Well, the little muggleborn and her even little muggle keeper could go run wherever they wanted. It was not as if I had expected their company. I could easily operate on my own.

She returned almost an hour later, sweaty-faced and panting. There was, however, another man beside her apart from the muggle. He was almost as tall as me and stood smiling without a shirt on his back. Curiously, the first question that I asked him was, "Are you muggle?" He shook his head and answered calmly, "No, I'm squib."

SQUIB!!Great. Muggle, muggleborn, squib and wizard- quite the fairy tale setting.

The whole idea was too preposterous to digest. Her rapport with muggles and muggleborns might perhaps been branded as unintentional but if she decided to flaunt other derogatory associations in my face, she had another thing coming.

"Who is this, Granger?"

Still smiling at the raven-haired, bare-chested man, she calmly replied, "This is Dylan Scrooge, a tour guide."

The Latino glowed under the introduction, crossing bulky arms resolutely around himself with a supercilious smile. I hated the squib instantly.

"It would be prudent, perhaps," I continued, ignoring the two men guarding her, "if you explained the reason for his presence in my suite."

"Don't you mean _our_ suite?" she pushed with a glint in her eyes.

"Of course. So, why?"

"Well he'll be taking us on a tour of the country and the Amazon in the days to come, if time permits."

Believing her words, I had nodded my consent and set off to explore the so-called beautiful Venezuela. About half an hour into the trip, she marched off with the keeper and squiby to take a closer look at the magnificent Angel Falls. Adorned in a green, sleeveless jumper and black jeans, she paraded close to the water, laughing and smiling at something Rumple was saying. An invitation had been tossed my way for the close-up but I refused to blemish my image further than it had already been.

After an hour and a half, we returned to the hotel and Scrooge bid goodbye to Granger, promising to return later for a pre-booked puppet show. The conversation was solely between him and my wife. Without looking once at me, she accepted the offer as though I were invisible. The Rumple fellow too, moved to his room after exchanging strange glances with me. The man was weird that way- always staring at me apprehensively.

Granger proceeded to voice her daily rituals as she had done the previous night.

"I hope you don't need the bathroom now. I'll just freshen up."

"You think I care? I'll personally book an en-suite bathroom if need be."

"Oh, yes! You will, of course."

She shut the door with a snap. Reclining on a chair, I stared at the room at large and unknowingly, my attention was caught by an ornate vase on the mantle. I gazed absently at the intricate patterns crafted on it. Suddenly, the fireplace glowed green and Blaise's smiling face greeted me.

"All right there, Draco-recently-married-no-longer-bachelor-Malfoy?"

"Zabini, hell would have been better. I've to deal with squibs now!!"

"I thought he was muggle."

"Oh, this is another 'he' besides the dwarf. Some Scrooge."

"Some Scrooge? Strange name."

I rolled my eyes at his stupid joke. "Blaise, we _are _friends, aren't we? How about we drop the pretence and talk directly?"

At his silent response, I ploughed on, "This is very awkward and unbearable. She can holiday here all she wants. I'd much prefer to stay at London. The muggle gives me the creeps."

"_You_ get creeps? Already whipped, huh?"

My answering glare silenced him. Apparently, his smart ass comments had gained momentum in the last few hours we were away.

"I understand your arrangement of this honeymoon. Why the hell am I deal with her keeper too?"

Blaise sighed and a second later stepped out of the fireplace, smoothing his robes.

"Where is Granger?"

"Bathroom," I shrugged.

"Listen Draco," he sighed, seating himself on the chair opposite me," Rumple…Rumple was specifically asked to accompany you two."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning…it was already planned to send him. Granger's parents, particularly her father, were insistent."

"Why?" His replies were all given off grudgingly, as though he were anxious of my reaction.

"Well, they don't…they don't actually_ trust_ you."

The answer echoed in my head for a few moments more than was necessary. Strangely, I couldn't voice harsh words, accusing them worthless of commenting on my attitude or character. Blaise raised his eyebrows, perhaps waiting for an expected retort. Silence ruled for sometime further. Then the bathroom door clicked open, Granger emerged, toweling her wet hair.

"Blaise," she smiled, "what brings you here?"

"Oh, nothing really. Just checking on my friend, Draco," he inclined his head in my direction, "I'll be leaving now, though." And he disappeared through the floo.

* * *

By evening, Granger was once again decked up. I had never actually visualized her as a woman of make-up and cosmetics. Her routine so far had been in accordance with my predictions. However, I curiously pondered the role of eye-liner, lip-gloss and other similar items on her dresser. I had cleaned up as well and as they say the difference between a wand and a stick will always remain; my better attire outshined hers easily.

Exactly at seven, Scrooge and her little routine muggle elf entered our room and declared it was time to get a move on for the popular wizarding puppet show.

"Actually," I began calmly, "I wish to dine alone with my wife tonight. The earlier agenda has been cancelled."

The guide fellow looked pathetically disappointed and I was certain that he would pout at Granger at the first chance given. Incidentally, the other two did not remain mute and spoke soon after I had finished.

"_Dine_?" asked Granger, surprised, eyebrows shooting up.

"_Alone_?" cried Rumple, enraged, nostrils flaring. His small face flooded with colour, a dark scarlet like Weasley's hair.

"Oh yes! I have reservations already. It shouldn't be a problem for the two of you to watch the show. Without us."

"Where pray tell are you taking her? The short man enquired shrewdly.

"That doesn't matter. We'll be back before ten."

The reply was sufficient for the guide and he retreated from the room, eyeing Granger sorrowfully. She, in turn, stared at me with a look of boundless incredulity while her little uncle shook his head as though clearing water from his ears.

"Shall we, Granger?"

* * *

Dinner was uneventful, except for Granger's unremitting questioning. Of course I knew already that she would behave this way; however the repetition was getting to me.

"What are you up to, Malfoy?"

"Nothing." I chewed the prawn fry with renewed vigor.

"This is insane," she hissed, leaning forward, slightly, "You, me and dinner are thoroughly unrelated concepts."

"Well it doesn't make much of a difference now. We are here, aren't we?"

"Exactly! And I bet my fortune that there is some hidden Slytherin ploy behind this setup."

"Is your fortune even existent?"

"Stop changing the subject!" she half snarled, "Tell me this instant what the meaning of this is."

She roughly pointed around the table and restaurant. I could easily tell that she was bewildered and if there was one emotion that Hermione Granger couldn't handle, it was confusion.

"There is no super-hidden meaning to this. I'm merely checking how you would fair without the midget to support you."

She still had a look of suspicion about her and I pushed my advantage further.

"The dinner is good. The prawns, particularly."

She did not respond, but fisted her hands, knuckles whitening.

"I wonder what they would serve for-"

"STOP IT!!"

She stood up abruptly. Snatching her purse, she asked for the bill and after tossing a few select coins, marched off angrily. I too abandoned my food and moved after her, ready to clear all doubts. In the background, I heard an old lady mutter to her neighbor, "Young love!"

Walking behind her for sometime, I hastened my footsteps and caught up with her easily. She ignored me completely and turned away. At last, she spoke in a calculated tone.

"Whatever mind game you are planning is not going to work."

"Oh,_ I'm_ playing games, am I?"

She stopped mid-step, half frowning.

"What do you mean?"

She was definitely playing dumb and my irritation was increasing with each passing second.

"Why did Rumple come here with us?"

Granger ignored the question for several long minutes. The road before us was clear with only a few night walkers strolling aimlessly under the moonlight. The restaurant we left was hidden from view, its shining lights disappearing in a veil of darkness. The street lamps were lit, illuminating the path and the roar of the wind faint, away from the coast.

"I told you he has been staying with me ever since I left Hogwarts. That's eight years and he can't…"

"Oh drop the bullshit, will you? I may be ignorant at times but am not completely stupid. It's plain as day that there is some ulterior motive."

She snorted rudely. "Your deduction is complimentary to your brain power. _Ulterior motive_? Not everyone takes lessons from you."

A stone bench could be seen under a tree, a few steps away. Granger moved purposefully and seated herself on the bench, ignoring my presence.

"Come on, Granger. It's obvious that your parents sent him here to tail me," I continued, angered by her indifference.

"_Tail you_? You are not important enough to be tailed."

"In the many hours we have been here, I've not once tried to grope you, rape you or maim you. So, it's pretty clear that I'm a decent and charming man. There is no reason for me to endure your parents attitude."

She raised her eyebrows, lips twitching.

"Not being a rapist doesn't define charming or decent. And what have my parents done to endure not only yours but your family's attitude as well?"

"Well, people of lower birth are generally treated coldly in our world."

She crossed her hands firmly, white arms prominent against the blue of her halter top.

"Oh yeah? Then people of stale heart and narrow mind are treated badly in _our_ world."

Granger had a smart mouth, I would give her that. In fact, for a lifelong commitment with Weasley, who had muck for brain, any woman would need to be a bit too forward. However, a similar attitude towards me was proof enough of her prejudice that all men were fools, required to be outsmarted by her holier-than-thou attitude. An added insufficiency to her name, as many others.

"You need to understand that I do not tolerate other people judging me. And it is even less jovial when said people are worthless to be even acknowledged," I said tightly. Her cheeks flamed and she turned her head so fast that I suspected a sprain in the muscle there. Slowly, she stood up.

"If they are so worthless, it shouldn't bother you what they think," she said quietly. Then she apparated.

I was left staring at thin air, vibrating in her wake. This was one terrible demerit of Granger's character. She would say something rather rude and leave before the completion of an argument.

* * *

"Your stunt tonight was uncalled for."

She was sitting in front of the mirror, removing accessories attached to her person.

"That was customary response to your pathetic behavior."

"_My_ pathetic behavior? Delusional much? If anyone is pathetic in this arrangement, it is you and you alone."

Moving to the closet, I selected a fresh pair of pyjamas and a nightshirt.

"Malfoy, you are a foul git. Your character is downright rotten and I apologize for using such harsh words but honesty is something I value too much. Your family is one prejudiced lot, craving to demolish goodness as best as they can. Their attitude towards me speaks volumes of the same and no amount of name, fame or money can morph that," she finished breathlessly.

I turned to face her. One earring was still dangling, its attachments clinging to her now bushy hair.

"Granger," I began quite evenly and it was a feat worth applauding, "You are not some bleeding angel, alright? The way you talk, one might even believe that you are a born good-doer. You_ are_ of low birth and blood status. Accept it."

She opened her mouth to retort but I did not present her much of an opportunity.

"You have many flaws, Granger and when you or your parents decide to put forth your claims about the many personality defaults of an accomplished wizard like myself, it is pathetic. I mean, you all don't even have anything, not even proper magic, to accuse me of bad character. Your lot is deserving of such treatment."

"SHUT UP!!"

"The truth always hurts," I smiled amiably.

"You bas-"

"Careful with the name-calling, Granger. If you aren't, a curse or two might slip my wand."

"This marriage is a charade, Malfoy. Shouldn't bother you what anybody thinks." She then proceeded to move to the bathroom, but I was quicker.

"Not so fast, _dear_! I won't take shit like that from you in future. So, apologize for your behavior tonight."

In an unexpected turn of events, she laughed mockingly.

"Dream on. I don't feel apologetic at all. In fact, I'm awfully jubilant."

I crossed my arms, raising my eyebrows. "It wouldn't last long. Now apologize!"

"Never."

"Granger-"

"Stuff it, Malfoy! You are scum."

"You are scum too, in case you've forgotten already."

"At least I am not some abhorrent conniving dog," she screeched.

Of all the nerve! I saw red and my tongue ran unchecked.

"At least," I growled, "I am not some pathetic excuse of a witch or a filthy bitch of a _Mudblood_, either!"

For the second time that night, the resounding _pop _of apparition reached my ears. However, this time it was preceded by the even louder sound of a slap- the stinging of my left cheek proof of it. Curiously, my attention was limited to the stricken expression on her reddened face and the beginning of unshed tears glazing her eyes just before she disappeared. Somehow, I knew then that she had not only left the room, but the country as well.


	10. The Violated Contract

**Disclaimer:All identifiable characters of the Harry Potter series belong to J.**

**It's been truly very long, indeed. Life happened and I had to take an year off from the world of fan fiction. However, now that I'm back, I do hope that my story attracts more readers and reviewers. To all my faithful reviewers, I dedicate this chapter. I believe this might be a pleasant surprise. The story is well paced and we have already jumped into the main plot with the previous chapter. As always,**

**Happy Reading!**

**Chapter-10**

**The Violated Contract**

Stephen Hardinge. The man was one master convict with records oozing up dark acts, too atrocious to be described, committed by him in the crazed haze of youth. Brought up by an old witch who struggled hard to make both ends meet and provide the adopted son with a decent education, Hardinge was a Hogwarts top of the class Ravenclaw student with an aptitude in Charms and Potions, unparalleled by his successors. However, he proved to be disappointment for the very woman who gave him her surname and callously broke her heart. The net result was endless hours of dossier poring for me and a welcome distraction from the entire furor of foreign feelings that revolved around a certain brown-eyed witch.

It had now been a week since the quarrel and life had returned back on track or as much on track as could be managed. As expected, she had not returned to the Manor and I learnt from Potter later that she was now living in her old flat. Well, good for her. She could find solace in that paltry hive if she wished. As for Rumple, I had to arrange an emergency portkey to parcel him off to Granger's flat as he was too _scared_ of the floo.

Perhaps there was no truth in the wand ceremony. Not at least in Granger and my case. The honeymoon tussle was something that I had expected would happen in the near future. The fact that we did not last even a day was loud testimony of the intensity of differences that we shared. Valdman was off his rocker and Dumbledore had already lost his marbles when he met Potter long ago. But life was assiduous and the sudden severance between Granger and me was a cloaked blessing.

No more marriage talks and tension-free days to enjoy.

However, the shift in the attitude of Blaise, Juventas and Mother at large was making me too jittery. After learning about the exchange of cold words between us, they had teamed up and accused me of lack of _dexterity_. Me! As if they even knew what had happened. I mean, no one calls me a _conniving dog_ and gets away with it, not even Flawless Granger.

"You should have kept your mouth shut," fumed Blaise, "If she called you a dog, there would have been adequate motivation for it."

"What? I just called her a bitch, alright. The female version of a dog, in case you are ignorant. For that she had the mettle to slap me!"

We were seated in Blaise's bedroom and he was pacing around as though his life was about to end. Seriously, there was nothing left to talk about.

"Bitch is not what I meant. You are so fixated with blood purity and _Mudblood_ annotations that you hardly check what falls from your mouth as long as it hurts the listener."

"In case you were so touched, why didn't _you_ marry her instead?"

He turned and glared at me. "You are so _low_, Draco. The fact of the matter is you don't deserve her. Weasley may not be an eye-candy, but now I know why she fell in love with him."

"Exactly!" I exclaimed in frustration, "She _is_ in love with him. So, what does it matter if I call her a bitch or a witch or whatever in that context? It hardly affects her seeing as she is least bothered with whatever I have to say."

"You are INCORRIGIBLE!"

That was the last I heard from Zabini. After having returned to work merely three days after my wedding, I had to endure the strange looks shot by colleagues and rivals alike. If the situation at hand wasn't worse enough, there was Granger parading around the Auror office and it seemed as though I had no escape from her droopy stance. We had crossed each other at numerous intervals and her stony expression had remained unchanged.

It was amidst this contemplation that my cabin door was kicked open and a black-haired, bespectacled git walked in. Hardinge's file slipped from my fingers and fell on the pile of other unread documents on the table.

"Morning, Potter. Anything you needed?"

"Listen up, Malfoy," the other man snarled, twisting his less than tolerable features in a more grotesque way and seating himself at the chair before me without invitation, "Whatever crawled up your brain and rotted is not my problem. If working here is beneath you, then I recommend you take up agriculture at your bloody mansion!"

I raised my eyebrows at his blatant ape-like attitude.

"Potter, riddles aren't really my forte."

He did not respond, however, all but threw a stack of papers on the desk while adjusting his spectacles and glaring at me. Calmly I picked up the documents and began leafing through them. Generally, Potter was more of a cherub and getting angry was something that he never did at the workplace. Thus, there must sure be a strong rationale for his newly sprouted devil horns and harsh tone. He was not the type to mix personal and official life together. Definitely he could not be irritated with the rift between Granger and me. The man was one psycho patient. It would seem that he expected me to treat his partial inanity. As if! However, a statement in the paper, he had tossed on the desk, caught my eye.

_Pinky Strat had a pair of bunny slippers that he had bought from a cobbler living in Far Away Land. The slippers had pink straps and black soles and Pinky Strat loved them because his Mommy said they had magic in them and could fulfill his every wish._

What the-?

I remember a case file containing the name Plunthy Slaph but how his identity had transformed into that of my once favorite childhood story protagonists was incredibly bizarre. I had personally completed the reference on the case last night and submitted the report to Potter for interrogating Slaph. There it sat, the report, the letters in bright yellow shining occasionally as though they were excerpts from a crèche kid's activity book. The flinty expression had not left Potter's face and he was now regarding me with raised brows.

"Malfoy," he began, "I believe Kingsley specifically assigned you the case because of your _supposed proficiency_ with serial killers. But I fail to see how obtaining _pink bunny slippers_ has anything to do with three murders in to clear that up?"

I was at a loss for words. The case had been referred to me the day I had returned back to work, cutting short my leave, and I had clearly specified all details in the report for the interrogation. How this could have happened was strange.

"Potter, I have no idea how this could be. Believe it or not I am not concerned with messing your messed up head more."

"Right," he nodded like an understanding parson which held an uncanny semblance to Dumbledore, "How about this?"

He selected another document from the heap, sliding it towards me. I gaped mutely at the words on the paper.

_Bellatrix Lestrange is my aunt and even if she is dead I'll love her dearly. I am not ashamed to admit that she had the best set of teeth I have ever seen and my association with her should be enough for the moronic Ministry to accept the withdrawal of my leave application and dance to my every whim._

"This is insane!!!" I shouted, surprising myself with the volume.

The man opposite me smiled sweetly, narrowing his eyes.

"Cute, Malfoy," he hissed, "Really cute. Kingsley isn't happy. So, clear up Slaph's file and submit a better leave retract today itself. I just love to say that your future isn't very bright with all this," he indicated the mess on the table, "So buck up and start _working_!"

He stood up abruptly then and walked out, closing the door in his wake.

I was left gaping at the vacated chair. This was very weird indeed. Gathering all the papers and looking at them agitatedly, I realized with dawning horror that each had improper and creepy sentences written on them. I slumped back, picked up my wand and tried rechecking the files.

* * *

Even after two weeks, the episode of strange documents continued to haunt my usual calm office hours. It was downright unfeasible for such strange happenings to continue and my worsening temper was an added catalyst.

"Draco," the pink haired witch standing before me groaned, shaking her head, "What is wrong with you these days? Any paperwork I forward to your table is turned into Doxy droppings. Is this something to do with Hermione? Are you depressed?"

"_WHAT!?_"

The idea was even wackier than the recent strange events. If anything, I was thoroughly enjoying the days that had followed the separation. Shaking my head at the wild conclusions, I eyed my cousin skeptically.

"Nymphadora, this has nothing to do with Granger! I am indeed as clueless as you in this regard."

If Tonks disapproved the use of her given name, she didn't show it. Instead, her usual lively eyes brimmed with frustration at the clear ineptitude of her work partner. She had been assigned as my superior, way back during the good old days when I first began training at the _Junior Auror Squad_. Perhaps it was the common blood we shared; maybe it was her sharp temperament coupled with my juvenile penchant then, which convinced our department head that we redefined 'chemistry' on the field. However, our lustrous reputation had sure tarnished to rust in the few weeks following the 'Venezuelan Wrestle' as I now tagged it.

"Two weeks of this nonsense and you still claim yourself ignorant. Grover has cancelled Hermione's apparition license and you have the absolute gall to act…," she sputtered, hair flaming a dark scarlet, "…to act casual!!!"

Not that I was unaware of her close friendship with Granger, but the long list of accusations against me in context of _her_ rudeness drove the last bit of patience

away.

"Look here Tonks," I began with minimal calm and restraint, "She is not the sole injured party in this case. I'm done with being tagged the tyrant, listening to _my_ family and _my _friends going on and on about the innocent goddess that is Hermione Granger. The least you could do in a distressing situation of office chaos is stop badgering me and getting on with _your_ own life with _your_ wolfish husband and _your _chubby baby boy."

However, being the ever-happy eccentric witch she was, my cousin merely shook her head and sighed. She looked out of the window picturing a magical scenery and sighed twice in quick succession. I was under the impression that her daily yoga ritual had been rescheduled for office time.

"Good luck, cousin," she finally said in resignation, "I hope Kingsley reconsiders his decision."

The quick decision that our over-confident, overreacting and _overweight_ Minister had made regarding my position in the Department was least anticipated and a shocker as it became evident the very next morning. The yellow memo bearing the bulky man's signature was a cruel implicit reminder of the favoritism that ran rampant in the Ministry.

"I shall, under no circumstances, visit that rotten, unclean dump."

My secretary, Daniella, pouted and readjusted her spectacles. On first glance, she might have appeared a woman of _loose_ morals, what with her _tight_ clothes and heavy lipstick. However, the raven-haired witch was one efficient employee with just a glamorous lifestyle.

"Might I remind you sir, that St. Mungo's is a hospital," she spoke calmly, belying her indifference at my blatant rudeness.

Well, the situation at hand was quite incongruous to anything that a freshly married man could expect. The threat that hung over my job had morphed itself into one that challenged my mental state itself. The proof of the same lay before me-

"_Mr Malfoy,_

_Following the bizarre state of affairs in your department, particularly the last involving Doxy droppings, I find it imperative to take strict action before the situation gets out of hand. Therefore, you are hereby, ordered to attend a counseling session with a chosen Healer at St. Mungo's this afternoon at one. No negligence on your part will be tolerated in future. If the events do not reach a conclusion, I may be forced to suspend you temporarily to maintain peace and calm here at the Ministry._

_Signed_

_Kingsley Shackelbolt_

_Minister for Magic"_

Compelled by the natural urge to safeguard my career and future, I ventured to the designated ward at the godforsaken hospital. The pale greenish yellow walls of the room had me nauseous, the very minute I stepped in. Not only was the disinfectant smell overpowering, the cramped seating arrangement showed real aesthetic incompetence. Opposite my bench was perched a beautiful elderly witch, with an unnatural blush adorning her cheeks. She looked at me slyly and winked several times in quick progression. Her skin was half hanging in an attempt to catch up with earth's gravity, after maybe centuries of sticking onto the rather bony face. Next to her was a young man, probably a little younger than me, humming some strange melody while batting his eyelashes at every passing nurse.

Great!

**A mental ward!**

At about a quarter past ten, the device above the ward door vibrated and a sweet female voice sounded:

"_Patient-56, Malfoy Draco"_

The door was white with paint peeling off the edges. A blue nameplate bearing 'Healer Aston' was gleaming evilly at its centre. I carefully opened the door a fraction of an inch and peeped precariously at the interior. Rolling my eyes at the sudden loss of nerve, I stepped over the threshold cautiously. The Healer was seated with his back towards me with just his mop of black hair and a pair of slender arms protruding from behind the white office chair.

_Slender?_ Well not really a very masculine attribute, if you ask me.

"Healer Ast…" I began.

"Yes," the person in the chair spun around and belatedly I realized that masculine was a far fetched concept to be associated with the beautiful witch seated before me. I cleared my throat.

"Ahem, morning Healer…"

"Vane. Romilda Vane," she smiled kindly.

"Right, Healer Vane, I'm your ten O' clock appointment."

She indicated the chair before her, tapping the tabletop while extracting a file from the top drawer.

"Mr. Draco Malfoy, is it?" At my assenting nod, she began reading through the folder, marking off some spots on the same with an eagle quill. A very _elegant_ eagle quill.

"Mr. Malfoy, I've read through the case file and I do not see any abnormalities on your part. See, I'm the junior healer in training under Healer Aston and I deal with milder cases,"

I yawned at her mini autobiographic monologue. She didn't quite appreciate that.

"AS I was saying," she stressed, "the oddity may have more to do with a certain errant curse, a miscast hex and the like. So, firstly Mr. Malfoy, have you been recently involved in a duel? Of course, being an auror, I know its part of your job description. However, can you recollect any incident wherein you were victim to a criminal's curse? An absconder's defense spell perhaps?"

"I'm dealing with more paperwork than field duties at the moment, actually," I replied point-blank. Her raven brows knit together in a valley of confusion. She flipped through the documents in the file, biting her lip in consternation.

Haplessly, it seemed as if I had been assigned to yet another specimen of incompetent medicine graduates that horde wizarding world at large. Must have been an ignorant Hufflepuff. Her mannerism spoke volumes of her inexperience in the field.

After reading through the details, she mumbled a few incoherent phrases and looked up at me.

"It says here, that you had been subjected to the Union of the Wands ceremony less than two months ago. There seems to have been some sort of accident during the same. I'd like you to explicate."

Huffing, I summed up the story of my short termed engagement and marriage, deftly avoiding the part of the _Venezuelan Wrestle_. Vane was a serene listener with her fitting contribution of 'hmm's and 'I see's at the correct intervals.

"Are you currently residing with your wife?"

"No."

"Then," she smiled triumphantly, "I suggest you do the needful to shift your abode to where Miss Granger stays."

"Her name is Hermione Granger."

"You did mention it. My memory is not that incompetent."

"I'm Draco Malfoy."

She smiled tauntingly at that. "I'm well aware."

"Then, it should be beyond any doubt clear to you that I do not prefer to share living quarters with my so called wife."

"Alas, Mr. Malfoy," she pushed away from the table, twirling the quill in between her fingers, "if you value your job, future and above all, your _life_, you should take immediate measures to rectify the situation and…your attitude."

I sneered at her condescension.

"Don't get me wrong," she hastily soothed, "Your obdurate disposition has played a hefty part in mucking up the situation and I'm sorry to say that while getting one's way is a strong character trait, it also marks your inability to acclimatize. Look, as a Healer, I would say that you should try and treat Hermione as your equal and not as an enemy. Your rivalry may be legendary and splashed across gossip columns in popular weeklies, but the magic of the _Urn of Confraternity_ is complex and moreover, for lack of a better word, primordial. Therefore, it is futile to even attempt to outdo magic that wizards almost as clever as Dumbledore have designed."

"But…"

"I have no more to say. All that you have gone through in the past few weeks is the residual effect of the charm associated with your marriage registration ceremony. It isn't necessary that you become all cozy with your spouse but to keep the effects minimum, I strongly recommend at least common lodging facilities."

With an air of finality, she swished her wand calling in the next patient.

"Good day, Draco."

* * *

At long last, it was finally revealed that the reason for the incidents at my workplace had more to do with some age-old ceremony and less with my mental stability. In this context, it had been fairly impossible for me to _not_ gloat before Potter and Zabini, seeing as they seemed to share some inane joke involving a few choice words like 'Bellatrix', 'nephew', 'runs in the family.' Surprisingly the latter of my two critics had agreed to reconcile and flap away the flag of our childhood comradeship once more. Well, it was indeed a welcome change to have my best friend back, the twitter of tittle-tattle was an added stipulation.

"Are you aware that Crabbe has become a vegetarian?"

"No."

"Like that can stop his flab from mounting. Hah! Anyway, Pansy returned last week, from Paris that is. She didn't contact you by any chance, right?"

"No," I turned another page in the infamous Hardinge case file. This fellow is sure a born criminal.

"Grover was just telling me the other day that Granger's filed for a new apparition license. Not that she can get it so fast, what with that entire unregistered cross-continental apparition. Poor bird. Didn't you at least warn her then?"

"No."

"What is this? 'Say No' day or something?"

"No."

There was complete silence for a few blessed seconds and then- "Draco!!!"

"What?"

"You aren't paying attention and that is one thing I hate. Your life is at stake here, mate and all you can do is dip in shit about some half lunatic, half serial killer with serious family issues. I sometimes wonder if it's empathy that you feel."

I put down the file and raised my eyebrows, looking at him.

"What do you want?"

"Apologize to your wife and get back with her."

I sighed, "Not going to happen."

He jumped from the edge of the desk where he was alighted and stared stonily at me. Grumbling like some spoilt rich kid, he stalked up to my chair, grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard.

"Malfoy, for the last time, put your prejudice crap aside and be a man about this situation. So you fought with your wife. So you called her a few names…"

"So she called me a few back…"

"So you insulted her parents…"

"So she insulted mine…"

"So you ridiculed her…"

"So she _slapped_ me…"

"So WHAT! It isn't as though it's the end of the world. Your ego won't feed you for long. This job is the only thing that Lucius hasn't bought for you. Open your eyes for once. She has nothing to lose whereas you are the one on the verge of suspension. Granger is smart and influential enough to worm out of this sticky mess and she has Potter, for Merlin's sake."

He spoke the last sentence as though having Potter on one's side was solution to all problems.

"Draco, think of your Mother at least. There she is, hoping that her son's life remains a bed of roses and here you are, embedding thorns in it. Marriage is mandatory for you at this stage and not optional. All I'm saying," he sighed tiredly, "is that it is high time you tried for a conciliation."

"Why," I exhaled sharply, "do you think I'm the only one at fault?"

"Because, you are the one who keeps provoking her and putting words into her mouth. She is a woman and is bound to crumble at some point. You can at least be considerate up to a certain extent."

I was at a loss here. It was pretty evident that Granger herself had cast some dark curse on my dear friend, as munificence of this level for another human being, particularly a muggleborn, was unheard of in a Slytherin. Well, he could keep spouting nonsense for all I cared, because my stand regarding my marital and residential status was not likely to change in the near future.

* * *

I'm not a man of oaths and promises. But circumstances have molded me into a man of compromises. When one is subjected to shoves and pushes from all angles, even iron strong resolve is bound to disintegrate. Not that I'm not at fault for having given in to the whims of others, but then again obstinacy has indeed its limits. The coffee shop chosen for the event of reconciliation was a cozy thousand square feet café, established on the outskirts of Diagon Alley. The well-rehearsed speech I had prepared was proving to be more and more insufficient with each passing second. Amidst the chirping of birds Granger's arrival, thankfully alone, was unnoticed as my concentration was restricted to the grains of worn wood on the table.

"Malfoy," she half-whispered.

"Yes, Granger," I began as calmly as was possible, "that is still my name. Due to some unforeseen and insurmountable state of affairs, I've been compelled by certain external agencies to extend a hand in compromise."

"I…"

"Let me finish. Though I may appear weak at this moment, let it not be unsaid that my compliance with this marriage has nothing to do with personal interests. It is sheer diligence on my part to maintain a foothold before my parents, colleagues and the society at large. So, for the sake of all this, Granger, if you are willing to give this another try, I might reconsider my words last said to you."

The whole time I looked straight above her head at an elongated artificial flower stem at the opposite window sill. After having finished the agonizing apologizing speech, I glanced at her to see the reaction I could have reaped.

Amusement was not expected.

Granger shook her head in mirth, placed her rather blue handbag on the table and sat down before me.

"I like the coffee they serve here," she said, stretching her bare arms, lacing her fingers and smiling cheerfully. It was rather distressing to know that she was _this _composed, while I had endured hell at work and home alike. Her peach sundress was screaming optimism while the shrouding black of my cloak reflected its owner's mood rightfully.

"…just milk, sugar and coffee…nothing less. No extra additions to enhance the taste. Don't you wonder how simple items like those blend together to form this tasty beverage drunk worldwide?"

"Err…no…I actually prefer tea."

She laughed loudly at that. Now that I think about it, it was quite probable that she had been affected by the charm as well. Moreover, having committed the added sin of slapping her husband, she may have suffered far more acute damage than me, as was evident by her madcap cheerful speech regarding _coffee_ of all things. I looked around for reinforcement. Who knew when she might get violent and start attacking me.

However, her next sentence was quite inappropriate to be uttered by a crazy person.

"Alright. Since you are buoyant enough, I can safely say that there wouldn't be any more random outbursts of the previous sort," she waved a hand at a passing waiter.

"Coffee," she ordered.

"And for you, sir," the waiter asked, turning towards me.

"Tea," I murmured, still trying to decipher the reason for my wife's happy frame of mind.

At the waiter's departure, she once again resumed her cheerful chatter. "Really sorry, Malfoy. I guess, it goes without saying that I had acted quite rashly in the past and may do so in the future as well. It was childish of me to try and correct your views as I'm aware they might be stringent and well, well-seeped. So, let me apologize for having slapped you unnecessarily. This is," she cleared her throat, "a very professional arrangement and as you rightly mentioned that free will is absent on both our parts, I think we might just have to compromise. Your principles and prejudices are your own and I'm not the one to correct them."

I was baffled by her stand on the issue. Of course, she had no right to rectify my ideas and had indeed acted rather rashly by getting all physical on me. However, to hear the same from her mouth was just _wrong_. Hermione Granger was a force to be reckoned, a woman of steel determination and immense willpower. The sheer knowledge that she had willingly accepted everything that was said and done…to ridicule her…was, well, incredulous.

"Right," she looked down at her coffee mug that was served a while ago, "I guess this means we can talk about moving in together. What do you think?"

"Sure," I whispered, still confused.

Confused that her merry disposition was immobile on her lips and never, during the entire encounter, reached her eyes.


	11. Challenges Unseen

**Chapter 11**

**Challenges Unseen**

**Disclaimer: All identifiable characters of the Harry Potter series belong to J K Rowling.**

**Ahem, well thanks to all my reviewers and readers. Please keep the influx continuous. As always, once again-**

**Happy Reading!**

* * *

_Marriage is a pious bond, amalgamation of two souls in an irrevocable manner such that the strings of the heart are bound to get entangled, never to be uncurled again_. _The good cheer that warms the two participating individuals in this institution is what makes it long lasting and thus portrays a picture of social well-being. Then-_

I snapped the book, _Marriage: Charms and Curses_ shut. Not only had it reiterated my fears concerning the non-dissolution of this fallacy commonly referred to as marriage, it had served as an eye-opener for underdogs like me to the injustice widespread in the magical world. As long as husbands like Draco Malfoy flourish, peace would remain a far-fetched fantasy. Not that I had anything against his ferrety…ahem…gentlemanly attitude reserved for certain people, including his wife, but a change would have been welcome. As per the pre-requisite of the damn spell, Malfoy and I had agreed to stay at the same place for the duration of at least a few months; even though the venue of co-inhabitation was Malfoy Manor itself. Bedrooms were in the West Wing, about twenty feet apart. Despite his grouchy attitude, Malfoy was a bit more accommodating than I had previously presumed. His daily routine, if left uninterrupted, simply involved an array of well-scheduled activities that mainly revolved around work, friends and mother. His casual disposition was clear indication of the rather boring life he led. Not only was he adamant in more ways than one, he was highly short-tempered when it came to anything that included him in conversation. Perhaps it was because of me that his temper was forever flaring. The only good thing about staying with him was that he ignored me most of the time and maintained a clean and neat lifestyle. The only common trait, it seemed, we shared was cleanliness.

One fine morning, he came striding down the stairs in his usual office attire and a scowl plastered on his face. Around the breakfast table were seated his parents and me. Choosing a chair closer to his mother, he sat down.

"Morning Father," he mumbled after a quick kiss to Narcissa.

Lucius, for his part, remained silent, just turning a page of the newspaper in answer.

If there was something queer in the household, it was the elder Malfoy's ever changing mind-set. For most of the day, he remained mute, communicating more through actions and gestures than words. His wife was highly skilled in reading every change in him, even a frown. It was clear as day that the couple was in love and both treasured their only son dearly. Their heir, though was a different story altogether. His fondness for anyone at the Manor was so subtle that even a trained Auror like me couldn't say for sure. It seemed that the pair had nurtured their dear son and brought him up with all the liberties that an only child could ask for.

The morning greetings for me were usually cold. Malfoy generally didn't bother to acknowledge my presence; not that I was complaining. The task assigned to me the previous week was risky enough without having to endure his snappy retorts this early on a working day. I decided it was time that I informed my in-laws of the trip.

"I shall be gone for the week. My assignment lasts a minimum of two days. So, I'd be gone for the weekend."

Malfoy didn't even look up.

"What sort of assignment, Granger?" Lucius asked, still hiding behind the paper. I was grateful that he had still stuck to using my maiden name.

"Dolohov's case has been resolved. He was spotted attending a muggle memorial service in Kent. I was assigned his file earlier this year. The intelligence bureau got news of his whereabouts last week," I glanced at my husband, whose face still remained neutral, "They want me to make an arrest at the earliest."

"And you are doing this alone, I presume?" Narcissa spoke up for the first time, dainty fingers buttering toast. Her eyes were concerned, though the worry was directed at her son's poor eating habits; he had hardly touched a thing on the table.

"Yes," I consented reluctantly.

Lucius put down the paper at last and regarded me skeptically.

"I was under the impression that yours was a ten to six job. Have they now begun including women in field duties?"

"They have always involved women in all duties," I huffed, "I know this might hurt your patriarchal sensibilities, but women are as proficient as men these days."

He seemed amused by my response but continued the rebuttal anyway.

"You appear to be the sort of witch more interested in research than manhandling villains. I'm curious as to why you'd choose a career path revolving around such, for lack of a better word, _action_."

"Appearances can be deceiving, Mr. Malfoy," I replied while reaching for a third slice of toast, "Besides, I've been involved in action all my life. So it hardly makes a difference now."

Narcissa, quite absorbed in her son for the past few minutes, now looked between her husband and me with increasing curiosity. Perhaps this was the longest civil conversation that he had engaged a muggleborn in. Malfoy was too lost in thought to lend an ear to the talk at the table.

After a moderately silent breakfast, we all went separate ways. Lucius made a hasty retreat announcing the need to visit Gringotts for the annual account clearance. His wife too, followed him through the floo, claiming a late morning meeting with Mrs. Zabini.

Malfoy and I were, at last, the only remaining inhabitants in the living room. He detained for a short while, staring at a portrait that might have been of his great, great grandfather's. I was wondering if he was even planning to depart, when-

"Do you plan to appraise my devastatingly perfect features all morning? If I had known earlier, maybe we could have devoted an hour or two for you to count the hair on my chin."

I reddened at his words, ashamed that I had been caught staring.

"If you'd hurry up with the floo, Malfoy, I wouldn't have to stare at you, speculating when you'd come back from la-la land," I retorted, hesitant to keep mum, "Not that it matters, but some of us, unlike you need to be punctual to continue working."

He fumed silently, a tinge of pale pink appearing on his otherwise pallid face. That was another thing peculiar about him. He hardly expressed anger or distaste through more than dirty looks or a few insulting remarks.

"Oh, I forgot you had lost the privilege of apparition long ago. What a pity, another black mark on your pristine record, I suppose?" He ignored my angry stare. After grinding his teeth for extra measure, he stepped aside, making an elaborate sweeping gesture towards the fireplace.

"Ladies first," he growled.

I was surprised at his seldom-displayed bout of chivalry and gaped mutely for a few minutes.

"I'm certain that my angelic aura is completely disarming. I'm flattered really, but you have a morning summon at ten and it is quarter past already. That obviously doesn't define punctual," he smirked.

Coming to my senses, I hurriedly tossed some floo powder and vanished in a puff of green fog, deciding that lunatic conduct of blond egoists could be dealt with later.

* * *

Lunch was uneventful except for the unexpected news that Ron was back. This bit of information was depressing in itself for the simple reason that his marriage, it seemed, was far more successful than mine. He had been back for a little over two weeks and I became aware of this through a newspaper article. It seems ridiculous that I should know this through media than my best friend himself. Maybe our match had been wrong after all. Perhaps Pansy had been the ideal wife for him. A Quidditch star and a fashion designer; the pair sure were glamorous in their own way. And what do I get? The King of all things nasty and sarcastic, of course. My bad luck itself was suffering, it seemed.

After a lonely lunch, I packed up and decided to visit Ginny. It had been a while since I had had a talk with her. However, her floo was blocked; which had never happened in all the years that she had started living by herself. Obviously, she was alerted of a visitor when a faint buzzer went off.

"I swear, Zabini, that next it will be Aurors arresting you," Ginny's shrill voice echoed about the empty flat, "I'm fed up with your antics and if you persist some more, I wouldn't even wait for them. It would be rewarding to be in Azkaban after ridding the world of an utter prat like you."

I was struck dumb by her anger.

"Why are you quiet? Run out of sweet words, have you? Well, that's good, seeing as you wouldn't be talking for long," she laughed somewhat maniacally at this, " Did you think that my doors would be forever open for creeps like you? Hah! As if! I'm an accomplished journalist and a few words from my quill and you'd hardly be able to walk around in respectable society."

Her tantrum was nearer, meaning she had probably come downstairs in front of the fireplace.

"Okay, Zabini. Game over. This is the last and final time I'm telling you this and I really don't like repeating my self: _LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE_!"

"Err…Ginny?"

"Don't call me that!"

"GINNY!"

"Imitating some weird girl sound will not open this fireplace to you," she snarled, her anger mounting.

"Ginny, it's Hermione!"

Silence.

After wondering if she had somehow passed out from the energy draining screaming match, I tried again, "Ginny, are you all right?"

Whoosh. I half-tumbled, half-rolled down the fireplace as the invisible barrier lifted, leaving behind green smoke. Coughing uncontrollably, I staggered to my feet, glaring at my so-called friend.

"A warning," I wheezed, "would have been ideal."

She blushed and turned away.

"Oh, erm…heh…why don't you sit down," she sputtered, "I'll make tea."

I stared at her.

"Oh…ha…" she wiped her brow on her shirt sleeve, "So, how are you?"

When I refused to answer, she glanced behind her shoulder, red hair obscuring her flushed cheek partly.

"Right," she sighed, turning fully to face me, "Sorry about that."

I smiled at her flustered state and moved to make myself comfortable. Her earlier actions could be talked about later. She had a propensity to lie when questioned directly.

"It's been so long since we talked, Ginny."

"Yeah," she smiled in return, "Its like marrying Malfoy has made you into a recluse. No contacts whatsoever. Been well, I hope?"

I realized then, the truth in her words. I had been converted overnight into one of those witches, who after marriage decline to continue any form of contact with friends and acquaintances. Malfoy was not to be blamed here and I was surprised to note that the lack of contacts was indeed a gaffe from my side alone.

"Been better before but no complaints as of now."

Ginny, seemed to sense the unease and swiftly changed the topic.

"Parkinson is back. You wouldn't believe how loud she gets sometimes. It's a miracle that they could stay more than a day in Paris with Ron's short temper and her banshee guise running high," she grinned, as though recollecting a fond childhood memory, "My brother dearest has lost all peace of mind."

I was startled to hear this, though a small part within me cheered that things had been less than perfect for the other couple as well.

"Ron is the compromising type, unlike certain other stubborn husbands I know of," I began carefully, trying best to hide my curiosity, "Whatever could Parkinson have to complain about?"

"Oh, what does she not have to complain about?" Ginny walked to the kitchen presumably to get that tea she had offered earlier, "It's either 'penniless this' or 'impoverished that'. Half the time it's like bringing a penguin to the desert. She has a problem with the color scheme of Ron's private toilet, for Merlin's sake!"

She giggled uncontrollably at that, her shoulders shaking in mirth.

"Sorry, Hermione," she half-choked, "run out of tea dust. Might as well have chocolate. You've had lunch, right?"

"Yeah," I beamed, "chocolate will do."

The afternoon passed quite merrily with us abusing Pansy's bad habits, overly fashionable lifestyle and horrid color sense. It was like old times, when we would spend hours talking in our dorms of all that was happening at Hogwarts. Seemed a lifetime away now. There was a tangible comfort in this form of familiarity. Ginny was joyous as always, having calmed down after the earlier outburst. She did explain later of the situation between Zabini and herself involving a few choice words like 'prat', 'stalker', 'florist's acquaintance' and 'headache'. All in all I easily concluded that my colleague had taken to pursuing the red-haired witch before me. She did not find the situation the least bit funny, plowing on and on about the demerits of his personality and rather demonstrative way he acted around her. She then was tolerant enough to hear of my tales of distress at the Malfoy Manor. Normally, Ginny would badmouth the entire family for stealing her sister-in-law and converting her into the hermit that she now called me. However, she was pensive when she heard of Malfoy's apathetic attitude.

"It's good that he's ignoring you. At least, shouting contests can be avoided," she took another sip from the chocolate that had sure gone cold during the conversation. After reminiscing a few more life anecdotes that had gone by unnoticed by either of us, I decided to take my leave.

"Talking to you is always a welcome change, Ginny."

She smiled, shaking her head. "Just part of the Weasley charm. When can we meet again?"

"I can't say for sure. The assignment will extend to a little over two days and I might even have to leave England for a while."

"Ah, well! Dolohov's is one of the few deatheaters left. Must be a bunny compared to Lestrange and Greyback. You'll nail him good!" she chuckled, "I'm sure!"

I hugged her, waved goodbye and disapparated. No matter what Malfoy may have thought, I've had a renewed license since last Tuesday.

* * *

In a long career of crime investigation as an Auror, the hardest challenge one can face is that of capturing deatheaters. Unlike the other petty wrongdoers, they rarely play around with harmless hexes and curses. It has more to do with the inventive sort of magic which is primarily dark. Often, it is a combination of multiple curses and hexes involving forbidden potions as well. After the fall of Voldemort, their 'activities' were less lethal involving permanent brain damage to muggles, bodily handicap to squibs and an assortment of constrained potions tested on innocent elves. If the crimes had been tagged less lethal it was probably because no cases of murder had been reported.

"You leave at six sharp, Hermione."

"Right, sir."

David Plebbot was the head of the operation. He was a pleasant man of about forty and twelve years my senior. Not only was he reluctant at first to draw me into the case, but he even suggested an alternative of sending Tonks instead. Of course, this had nothing to do with him deeming me incapable of completing the task assigned, but more with an elder brother facet he had for me.

"Be safe! I shall meet you within half an hour. Do not go skipping about the hotel hunting for him alone. As of now, you are just to book a room and play the part of a tourist well," he paused, inhaling deeply, "I'm sure I make sense, Granger?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, good luck."

With a firm handshake, we parted ways. A portkey had been scheduled and I was to reach the same at least five minutes before it activated.

Harry had visited earlier today, wishing me a successful trip, conveying delicately that he was ready to take my place if I asked. Of course, I wouldn't have done that, for this was a hefty assignment after a long break of inactivity. One is bound to get tired of four-walled cabins.

I arrived at the portkey exit centre well in time and was informed to wait a few minutes. Taking a seat by the window, preferring to stay by myself, I looked around aimlessly at the other officials clutching drinking flutes, hats and the like which could have been their corresponding carters. I drew out the itinerary of the trip, casually flicking off the events for tonight.

Reporting…dinner….room service…costume change…

"Whoa, Hermione! What are you doing here?"

I looked up to be greeted by the cheerful smile of Blaise Zabini.

"Hey, Blaise," I beamed in return, "I've a portkey scheduled at six."

He frowned a little at that, turning around looking for someone.

"Is this about Dolohov?"

"Yeah," I answered, unsure of his sudden serious questioning.

"And have you told your husband about this?"

"Well, I mentioned it in passing at breakfast," I replied nonchalantly, "he may have heard it, but I can't say for sure."

Blaise pondered for a while and then made a waving gesture at someone who I could not see. Wondering who he could be inviting, I sat up straighter, peering through the gap between hurrying passersby. I did not have to wait for long when the blond head of Malfoy materialized over several heads. He had not noticed my presence and approached Zabini in a state of aggravation.

"If you are done flirting with all the women in this room, we can-"

He stopped midway, having spotted me seated before his friend. At once the annoyance dissipated and in its place he adorned a cool mask of neutrality. Shoving both hands into the pockets of the dark blue trousers he wore, he glanced around coolly as though having all the time in the world to rest around casually.

"Draco! Look who I found!"

Malfoy probably did not like the overly excited tone of his friend's voice.

"Blaise, I thought you had a prior appointment."

"Yes, my dear friend!" he declared charmingly, "I've managed to win a little bet I had with Theo. I'll be collecting the dues later in the evening." He winked conspiringly at his friend.

"Bet?"

His grin, if possible, widened bordering on lunatic.

"You are correct, Mrs. Malfoy."

I cringed at the use of the new surname. Malfoy was equally surprised, but being the unresponsive git that he was, he hastily schooled his features into insouciance once again.

Blaise eyes suddenly widened as though just realizing that he himself had to enquire about some portkey.

"Sorry, lovebirds. I've got to hurry. See you later, Draco, Hermione."

Excusing himself, he walked away, black cloak swishing around his ankles.

There was an awkward moment after this with Malfoy concentrating hard at a particular tile on the floor. It was an increasing feeling of suffocation; being in his presence and trying to be civil. Courtesy between us was unheard of and now I had come to realize that magic indeed had might to crumble even the strongest of doggedness.

"Portkey 123, Portkey 123, _Portkey 123_!"

"Oh!" I shot up from my place on the chair, cursing silently. Catching his eye for a fraction of a second, I moved around him, eyeing the witch at the reception counter.

"Err…Granger?"

I paused in my tracks, turning around glancing at anything but him.

"Yeah?"

"Erm…that is," he cleared his throat rather loudly, "Well, this case you have…Dolohov's…I am aware that you aren't competent enough-"

An immense wave of rage took over my senses. I just seethed at his stab at mockery. Even the last moments before work can never be peaceful with this man. Scowling at the criticism he had tossed carelessly, I folded my arms and held up a palm in variance.

"Malfoy, I'm certain that bidding farewell is not your cup of tea and I'm stunned as to why you even try it," I whispered harshly, "if this case leads to my death, you can always rejoice that our one year contract would be cut short long before. Goodbye."

I turned around, marching away from him and the bemused frown he held.

* * *

Hotel Coral Land was weird in more ways than one, including its name itself. Situated about a few nautical miles away from traced sea routes, it gleamed like an ominous castle on the solo island, Singyart. England was far away from the shady lodging and my growing feeling of unease had me wary. One is sure to get jittery when standing a few feet away from vampires and deatheaters.

At first glance itself it became clear, even in the beginning stages of investigation, the place was an apt hideout for all dark creatures. Not only was the location unmapped, but the soaring expenditure incurred for a single night stay at the place was above my two months salary put together. As all born deatheaters came from rich pureblood families, this place would indeed suit their mood. Of course, Malfoy wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this. Cobwebs hung around and creepy ten legged creatures crawled round; probably some new species of magical amphibians. It would seem that the price for luxury was spent for other seedy purposes as the money surely did not materialize as hygiene in this hole.

It was surprising to be secluded in a place this far from home. For me, brought up in a warm family atmosphere, this was an unpleasant change. Well, one should be thinking the same whilst choosing a career option.

Like it happens with all strangers isolated in a strange crowd in a strange land, I was soon approached by a strange man.

"Aha, Miss," he exclaimed, showing yellow teeth with tints of red, "What an honor to be in the shade of your beauty!"

Hmm, flattery was never my strong point.

"Yo no hablo Inglés," I mumbled as softly as I could, "Por favor, perdón."

He seemed disappointed that I couldn't understand English and limped away muttering a hasty apology as though afraid to show his ignorance of Spanish. His demeanor did not classify as that of a death eater, but vampires were never on my list of best buddies. Looking around the lobby for any sign of my quarry, I reluctantly approached the reception to enquire of the rooms available.

"Hola, soy nuevo en Singyart," I spoke a little loudly, hoping the foreign language would drive away any more creepy characters and offer me enough working space to trace Dolohov's presence.

The receptionist, a young blond of about twenty, frowned at me. Taking in the golden robes and ostrich feathered hat I wore, he shook his head, mumbling something about 'dim tourists'.

"Bienvenido a Coral Island. Cómo puedo ser de su servicio?" he started in a very professional manner. His confident tone implied that he might even be fluent in Arabic.

"Oh, estoy aquí para reunirse con el Sr. Antoine Dolohov. Podría usted amablemente me uno cerca de su habitación?" I smiled attractively, hoping to steer him away from my rather loopy appearance.

He, being the nasty employee of this nasty hotel, did not seem phased by my attractiveness. Obviously, yellow hair, green eyes and unreasonably huge breasts define 'stupid' and not 'attractive'.

"No hay ningún cliente que va por ese nombre. Tal vez se equivocan Srta," he sneered at me, having clearly caught on to foul play.

"Tal vez se equivocan," I tried the most polite authoritative voice, "Antoine específicamente me invitó, desde la Comunidad de Madrid. Yo soy un _amigo_ especial."

I flicked my tongue along the upper lip, hoping for a seductive effect.

He still seemed hesitant to disclose the details, playing the part of a loyal watchdog perfectly. I was loosing my patience with the amateur or death eater in training and was ready to confound him if he did not speak up soon. Amidst this contemplation, I had already half-withdrawn my well-hidden wand from my glove.

"Oh, Shwena," a booming voice called, a heavy hand placed deliberately around my waist.

Looking up, I was startled to see a huge man of about seven feet towering over me, his eyes menacing, teeth barred in an angry snarl and very bad body odor like burnt sulphur.

Antoine Dolohov stood before me. His tall frame, quite intimidating amongst the other inmates of the lobby, demanded the quick attention of all that passed.

"Mr. Dolohov," the boy at the reception desk all but squealed in his surprise.

"Perdidas mí, querida?" he purred, nuzzling my neck playfully.

"Hmm," I mumbled, foolishly wishing that my expression was love struck enough to fool the gaping blond before us.

"You are laying it quite thick, David," I whispered into his neck, still giggling at apt intervals.

"Had I been late Granger, you'd have been vampire food for dinner. Confounding in broad candlelight is borderline idiocy," he growled, his usual friendly tone covered by Dolohov's low rumble.

"I was doing well on my own."

"I could quite see all the good you were doing. So good in fact that even the receptionist wasn't convinced." I did not appreciate the amusement in his voice. His face, though, was devoid of any emotion.

"Ahem," the overly clever man before us croaked, loosening his tie in an act of apprehension.

Plebbot looked up sharply, showing a face full of rage.

"Have you not heard what my guest demanded, lamb? Or are you deaf as well as dumb?"

"Sir, you said any interference-"

Plebbot continued to glare, his stare making the man…no…_boy_ shake in his pants, silencing him effectively.

"Give me the second key to my room."

"But Sir," he swallowed, "You already have-"

"Have you had your fill of life and just relish the idea of an early grave? If so, I'll do the needful. However," he smiled in a way that'd have made Voldemort look a kitten, "I do need the other key to my room."

The frightened receptionist, Timothy, as the name tag read, looked around in alarm. His brows had partly disappeared into the thick tassel of pale hair and the continued opening-closing motion of the mouth held a clear resemblance to Narcissa's pet goldfish.

My boss, who was not a man of patience or maybe Dolohov himself, was impatient, snapped his fingers in a summoning motion.

"Key. Now."

Timothy withdrew a key from the drawer beneath the desk and slowly slid it across the table towards us. Plebbot motioned for me to take it and with one last sneer at the scared boy, swiftly walked away. I followed obediently, sending a flying kiss at little Tim.

After having successfully fooled a few more people who dared to cross our path, we made it to the room. Room 420.

Apparently, there was no way to say for sure whether the real Dolohov was inside or not. Plebbot's disguise had long ago dissipated, which made our stay here even more risky. Strong winds howled outside, clattering the window panes. The heavy racket of waves crashing onto the rocks in progression reminded me once again that we were trapped in a _nowhere land_ among a band of blood sucking devils and deadly death eaters. Of course, I wasn't nervous in the slightest, just excited that one of the last of scum was soon going to be kicked into prison.

The room was just a few steps away and we were in rather a hurry. Even if, the quarry was not present, the situation at hand would provide an opportunity aplenty to look for clues. Though looking for _clues_ in a haunted hotel like this one was surely not my idea of action.

As per the decision made before, we were to collect the necessary papers if any, regarding any more illegal activities planned and make hasty retreat to an inn nearby, much less lavish than Coral Land. The ostrich feather had long ago drooped down, tickling my earlobe. Snatching it in huff, I stuffed it into an inner pocket of the hideous robes I wore.

The door creaked silently as David expertly turned the key in, after diffusing any wards that may have been set up. It surprised me somehow that an establishment such as this one, full of conceited purebloods could employ muggle methods in even such trivial things like room-security. The room was shrouded in darkness, except for the silk lining of the ottoman gleaming beside the window in the moonlight.

David moved into the room muttering a quick '_lumous_', indicating me to do the same. Having successfully disillusioned ourselves, we moved further into the enormous room. In the faint glow of the wand light, the ostentatious interior of the suite could be clearly deciphered.

"_Occultus lux lucis_", I murmured; a handy spell that provided light only to the caster. My partner followed the same example. Thus, even if Dolohov happened to step in, he wouldn't see us.

The bed was well-made and a stash of age-old firewhisky bottles lay abandoned beside it. David moved to the wardrobe rifling through drawers and clothes alike for the _clues_ that we were looking for. Neither of us spoke as we scoured the room, turning over cushions and mattresses, even the carpet. The hotel though unclean on the exterior had spotlessly neat rooms, as not even a speck of dust could be seen.

"_Attollo_", I whispered, elevating the bed in an attempt to look beneath it. As expected, a panel on the wooden flooring had been removed to be replaced by a sort of trapdoor. It's color was a dark cherry as opposed to the pale mahogany of the rest of the floor. I looked up at Plebbot in the adjoining room, but he was still busy with Dolohov's wardrobe. In his haste, he had dumped a whole heap of clothes on the floor.

Surmising, that I could at least open a door without his supervision, I reached for the tiny bronze latch.

"Have you not been taught that it is rude to barge in without knocking, Mudblood?"

The light emnating from my wand tip extinguished and a dark shadow of a very tall wizard fell upon me as the light from outside was cut out.

Shocked I reeled around, raising my wand and shouted the first spell that came to mind.

"_Expelliarmus_."

However, the intruder was fast enough to deflect it and mutter an even stronger one.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

* * *

**The Spanish dialogues in that order are-**

"_**I do not speak English, Please pardon"**_

"_**Hi, I am new to Singyart"**_

"_**Welcome to Coral Island. How can I be of service?"**_

"_**Oh, I am here to meet with Mr. Antoine Dolohov. Could you kindly provide me a room near him?"**_

"_**There is no customer who goes by that name. Perhaps you are mistaken, Miss"**_

"_**Perhaps you are mistaken"**_

**Thanks**

**SP**


	12. Common Path Crossed

**Disclaimer: All identifiable characters of ****the Harry Potter series belong to J K Rowling****.**

**Ahem, well thanks to all my reviewers and readers. Please keep the influx continuous. As always, once again-**

**Happy Reading!**

**Chapter-12**

**Common Path Crossed**

Death is a reality. No matter what anyone might think, it is not a serene reality either. You can still make out murmurs and heated discussions going on between those who are still animate and breathing. Evidently there seems to be a kind of link between the world of the living and deceased.

I couldn't say for sure whether the place I had landed in was heaven or hell; however, the white ceiling and pale blue curtains suggested that it was indeed some place near paradise. The bothersome racket, if ignored, becomes a low hum in the background. The sadness overwhelmed me after a while though.

Like any mortal who might have once walked the world, even I had dreams and aspirations. The forefront of all though, was my desire to live up to a ripe old age, happily married to the man of my thoughts and liberating houselves everywhere I went. In hindsight, it all appeared a castle in the sky, bound to deteriorate long before completion. However, I couldn't say that I had not enjoyed the short life led. Of course, with a mix of adventure, horror and romance, mine was an above average existence to say the least. It would have been pleasant to live a few years more; but since I'm dead already and being held guard by angels, it was-

Wait a minute.

Surely, Severus Snape could not be the angel assigned to look over me.

I was certain of this fact because he was sneering down at me, leaning over my head, his greasy hair obscuring the elongated nose and was dressed, as always, in black.

I was under the impression that cherubs wore white uniforms with a halo around their heads, forever smiling; and Snape definitely didn't fulfill even one condition. Perhaps, this wasn't pseudo-paradise at all, but the gateway to hell. Snape must have been the gatekeeper, ready to escort me to the pot of boiling oil, ready to let me pay for any sins I might have committed. Maybe stealing from his cupboard, ages ago, qualified as the foremost transgression. I didn't remember attending his funeral; however, even if he were dead, it would have been widespread news. With me being a customary news follower, it would surely have been impossible to miss the news of the death of Hogwarts most skilled Potions Master.

"Is she awake, Severus?"

"Do not call me that, Nott. I do not remember the time I gave you explicit permission to be on first name basis with me."

"Sorry, Professor."

There was a loud bang.

"Severus, is she awake, yet?"

Snape groaned.

"It is heart warming to know that we have all become friendly in this post-war era, but I do not find hilarity in my least preferred students calling me by my given name."

"I'm not your student anymore, Severus."

"Thanks to all higher powers for that miracle, Potter. With the number of N.E. you secured, I was afraid you'd remain an everlasting caricature at Hogwarts."

There was undisguised ridicule in the other man's tone.

"I believe there is indeed an everlasting caricature portraying me at Hogwarts."

During the conversation, two more male heads had materialized above me, cutting out the white ceiling from view.

"Mrs. Malfoy-"

"Granger-"

"Hermione-"

They all cried out at once, then scowled at each other and turned back to stare at me. It was then that I realized that this wasn't heaven or hell; rather a hospital, which would lie somewhere in between. I stared at the only friendly face I could recognize.

"Harry," I murmured my voice rusty from lack of use.

He smiled encouragingly. "You gave us all a scare, Hermione."

"Speak for yourself, Potter."

I faintly identified the third man to be a Slytherin; mainly because he had been seen numerous times in the same societal ring as Malfoy. His blue eyes gleamed with a hidden emotion; I couldn't quite make out the reason for the frown adorning his face.

"Right," Snape addressed me for the first time since I regained consciousness, "I hope this incident has opened your eyes to the universal fact that no witch or wizard is perfect when it comes to magic."

"I…Dolohove…killing curse."

"I'm saddened, however," he continued, straightening up, "that said incident has not had any effect on your persistence to speak out of turn."

There was silence for a few minutes, interrupted my sudden gasps for breath alone.

"Now that I have your undivided attention, I find it mandatory to detail the tale of your escapade that has landed you here."

"Can you not do away with the entire preamble? It's quite unnecessary, given the context, right?"

"Potter, I know you have a lot to say; but the preaching can be reserved for your fan club. Now kindly stop," he paused dramatically "_interfering_."

Harry locked his jaws together, as though never intending them to unlock again. Apparently, the happiness emitting from him had long extinguished after the repeated ejection of harsh words from Snape. His brows came together and he turned away petulantly from my bed.

"All right, Healer Nott," Snape began, "you might as well tell her all the details, seeing as certain other entities in the room would mind too much if I continued."

He looked pointedly at Harry, who had swiftly moved to the lone window. Snape frowned at the lack of response from his side and moved to perch himself on the edge of the stool beside the bed.

"Okay, Granger," Nott began, running a tired hand through his brown mane, "I'm the healer designated to you for the time being. I hope you are well aware that a killing curse had been shot at you not quite long ago. To be precise, you fell victim to the same about a week before."

_A week? It's been a week since I have been bed-ridden._

Ignoring my confused stare, the healer continued as though there had been no disruption.

"This sort of adaptation has never happened in the past and though it is uncouth to say so," he hesitated, "I'd say disarming an ex-death eater is surely not the first tactic to be adopted."

I knew my cheeks had reddened slightly and was thankful for the roll of bandages, concealing my discomfiture.

"You are, for lack of a better word, extremely fortunate. It is a bout of unforeseen luck that Rookwood was a very inept wizard when it came to the Unforgivable Curses. His handicap, it seems, has carried over even after so many years and the unexpected surprise of having been caught off guard put him in a state of panic; no matter how veiled it might have looked. So, to make a long story short, he was unable to kill you in a single attempt as his mental state at that time served in your favor, thus avoiding death on the spot. Meanwhile your partner was valiant enough to single-handedly tackle Rookwood even when he was unaware of your living status. Makes you respect Aurors a bit more," he sighed.

I got the distinct impression that he had thought of all Aurors being funny chimps like Zabini. Not that Zabini was a chimp; it's not in my nature to further degrade the degraded.

Theodore Nott scrutinized my bandaged face as though searching for hidden clues.

"What about…Dolohove?" I managed to stutter painfully.

"Ah," Nott sighed, "Antoine Dolohove was too quick for your sly schemes and having caught wind of your plans much earlier, vacated Singyart long before you got there. The room was still on his name though and Rookwood was the only one staying. He is now in Azkaban."

A sudden rush of disappointment overwhelmed me to know that Dolohove had made away with the plans that he had hatched with a few others and all our scheming had resulted only in the capture of someone far less dangerous.

"As for you, Granger," he hesitated, "I hope it is all right to call you that even though you are married now."

I nodded faintly.

"Well, Unforgivable Curses if cast wrongly cause a lot more damage compared to ordinary curses. As you see," he pointed at Harry who had his back to Snape while the latter was mumbling angrily, "Potter has had to suffer for almost two decades because of a killing curse gone wrong. Not that you'll have to endure similar complexities, however, the effects you _will_ suffer won't be of a minor nature either. The beginning of the same is evident in the bruises you have sustained on almost all body parts and unfortunately, you wouldn't be able to work for the next two weeks at least."

"So," he smiled for the first time during the entire conversation, "its complete bed rest for you."

"Um, Healer Nott," I gasped, still struggling to speak coherently, "Snape-"

"Well, you see," he continued smiling, "Snape, rather, Professor Snape as he prefers to be called, was called by the Lead Healer of Mungo's to gauge your reaction to a few of the potions prescribed for your course. He has been helpful to say the least, albeit grudgingly."

The debriefing had me stunned because not only had I proved my incompetence with a minor project; I had been severely injured so as not to partake in anymore adventurous outtakes in the future. I could easily foresee more months of primitive paperwork awaiting my arrival at the Ministry. Courting disaster, though a strong point for most Aurors, had proved to be a disaster of cataclysmic proportions for me. Of course, my first failure in the work field indeed was attestation of the way a catastrophic matrimony had influenced me.

* * *

It might have been an hour or two when I woke up to the sound of heated discussion at my bedside. Honestly, they might as well have admitted me to some Wizengamot courtroom.

"…well, I cannot be bothered with your ideas, Severus."

"You have to be bothered. In case you've had an attack of temporary memory loss, let me recap that you are a wedded man now and it is your wife lying here."

"The deal is only existent now to clog the Judiciary and hardly for my benefit."

There was a momentary silence.

"Look Severus, I have no qualms with her staying married to me for a few months more. After all, we've endured about three months already in each other's presence. However, you cannot force me to show false affection to a witch just because she bears my name."

Snape glared at my husband, who undeterred by the other man's accusations, continued pacing about.

"Draco," he sighed at last, "though I'm not experienced enough to speak of marriage in a way commanding enough to make you realize your follies, it would be fruitful in the future if you added a streak of benevolence to your character."

"But-"

"Not for the benefit of the missus of course, but rather for your own peaceful state of mind. Anger is not quite easily usurped, but apathy is not the way to show improvement either."

Malfoy, his green cloak swishing ominously, openly sneered at Snape. He had still not noticed my state of wide-eyed arousing.

"My conjugal status, as interesting as it looks, is hardly a momentous topic of conversation. I thought you'd be more concerned with the lack of newt eyes and thyme blooms in your store cupboard."

"Blooms and eyes have been taken care of. Your parents, though, would find your current situation more worrisome than my empty store closet."

"I-"

There was a sudden knock on the door of my room and before either of the two men could say anything more, it was pushed open and in walked the one person I had craved to see for months now.

"Ron!!" I screamed excitedly, sitting up eagerly on the hard mattress.

"Hermione," he smiled with equal vigor and ignoring the dumb founded stares of the other occupants in the room, rushed to my bedside, engulfing me in a warm hug.

The cascading emotions blurred my mind and belatedly I realized that I'd begun sobbing in earnest. It seemed a lifetime away that we had seen each other. Pulling away, I greedily took in the sight of familiar wind swept red hair, pale skin, freckles and the lopsided grin that always had my heart pounding. His eyes were glistening traitorously.

"I…you…I was worried," he faltered slightly at the last word. Before the drops began pouring down, I realized that my eyes were wet. To contain the embarrassment of weeping before the other two occupants in the room, I dug my face further into the warm cotton of Ron's shirt. He tightened his hold, awkwardly patting my head. Leaning away, I clasped his hand in mine and rubbed my cheek against our entwined fingers. The familiar feel of his hands was a warm change from the chill of the room.

We were too involved in ourselves to notice the sudden rage blooming on Malfoy's face.

"ENOUGH!" he roared, uncharacteristically loud. His face was pinched and turning a dark shade of pink. His palms were rolled into tight fists and the ominous look on his visage caused Snape to frown in confusion and worry.

"Draco," he began mildly.

"Enough, enough Weasley, ENOUGH!" he stampeded about the room, keeping stormy eyes fixed on Ron. "I've had it with your shit lovey-dovey act. You two make me sick! Granger," he snarled, turning to me, "we had an agreement. This chimp cannot traipse around playing the role of secret lover when I stand here with 'husband' stamped on my forehead. Your love affair can resume once this mockery of a marriage is annulled. Till then, Weasley, the least you can do is, stay away from _my _wife."

Sometime during the conversation, Malfoy had marched directly in front of us, waving an accusing finger in Ron's face.

"What do you care, ferret?" Ron mumbled in a deadly whisper, "What do you care, if all you want is good riddance from her. I bet your old pals might have had a field day once they heard of her condition. You, I'm certain, are plain disappointed that she is safe now, free from harm's way. Above all, I'm stunned that you care to even call her _your_ anything."

"You know, nothing, _nothing at all_ about me. Next time, I wouldn't repeat myself. I don't care one bit about your play-toy," he turned his back to us, "In fact, I'd have been joyous had she snuffed away, but my ill luck is yet to end. She may be the filthiest of all things filthy, but as long as the tag of Malfoy hangs above her head, she will remain above everything else. My family has suffered long for crimes blown out of proportion and-"

"Oh, stop your ridiculous 'I, my, our' self-centered speech-"

"Shut it, Weasel, I'm not done yet!" he turned around, blond hair askew, "You'll henceforth steer clear of Granger. Maintain a platonic relationship for all I care. But I will not have you screwing this up with that addled pea brain of yours. If you wish to sleep with her wait for another nine months, then she's all yours but I'll not have her sticking to my back for the rest of human existence just because you had your way with the wrong witch."

With that, he stalked to the exit and left, banging the door harshly.

"Now, that was quite a performance," sneered Snape, his face scrunching in distaste, pulling us away from the state of momentary shock. He then seemed to realize that he was unaccompanied in the room with Ron and me only.

"Oh, do accept my apologies for not partaking in this lovers' reunion," he drawled lazily as though expecting us to believe that he was really acting penitent, "but I've long since developed an aversion to cow eyes and sweet talk."

He then moved away and disappeared with a swish of black cloak.

* * *

If anyone were to enquire about my favourite fruit, I'd loudly declare the same to be apples. This indeed was not due to the fact that I'd been brought up as the daughter of dentists, but rather my own inexplicable culinary attraction to the red fruit. It was therefore not a surprise that all visitors at the hospital had bought me at least four apples each to while away the usually boring hours in the room.

What was a surprise, though, was Malfoy dicing fresh apples and aligning the pieces atop a plate before me.

The scowl on his face clearly proved that he had a personal grudge against the fruit or rather a strong repugnance to doing menial jobs better suited for house-elves. I, however, was too astonished by this act of rare concern to ponder deeply about the motive.

"You might want to gobble those now," he pointed the knife at the plate, "They won't vanish on their own."

I stared.

He was fluently spewing profanities under his breath and I distinctly heard him say certain random words like-'cocoon' and 'scheming black female'…whatever that meant.

"Why are you slicing apples for _me_?" I managed to ask at last.

He stopped the silent cursing and stared back.

"That should be obvious, Granger. _I _don't like apples; hence, I'm slicing them for _you_."

Poor fruit. This piece of information had me even more curious.

"Why…_for_ me?"

He dropped the knife on the table and squirmed in his seat, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Finish the pieces on the plate," he said at last, ignoring my pointed look, "If you want more, ask."

He got up from the chair at my bedside and began rummaging in the bag he had brought along.

For the past one week, Malfoy had been staying with me at St. Mungo's. He had used his _influence_ to arrange for an extra bed in the room and had been working from the hospital. His mound of case files stacked in alphabetical order on the table had made me smile. It seemed we shared another common trait than cleanliness. I had realized a few days back, that he was merely sticking to the agreement and playing the role of concerned husband- getting me breakfast because the hospital food wasn't good enough for _him_, staying beside me whenever the duty healer came for rounds, not working later than ten at night because I had to catch up on sleep and of course slicing his least favourite fruit for _me_! Well, as was required of the contract, he could merely check on me once a day and get on with his own life. However, Ron's appearance at my bedside did not sit right with him and I got the distinct impression that he was more engrossed in spying on me than showing any faux concern. He didn't apologize for all that he said the previous week and I didn't bother pestering him as being cruel was in his genes and I couldn't convert him overnight, even if I tried.

Having found what he was looking for, he seated himself back in the chair, his back to the door and hid his smirking face behind a hefty tome labeled '_House elf Liberation: A Revolt Of Stupidity_'. I could have punched the git for getting that particular volume as light reading material. No matter how concerned he might act, the evilness was too deeply embedded to desert him completely. The front page of the book depicted a gargantuan elf towering over a crowd of cowering wizards.

"Having second thoughts about your mini _Elfish Welfare_ project?" I hated the amused tone of his voice.

"You wish, Malfoy," I retaliated, turning away from him.

"Aww," he mock pouted, bringing the cursed book down, "Don't be that way. If you behave, I might make a tiny donation for your society, still awaiting take-off."

I glared at his cheery smile.

"Go to hell," I pulled the covers tighter, snatched the plate of apples and began wolfing them down in the most unladylike manner I could. His happy face contorted into one of disgust.

"Been living in caves all your life, Granger?"

"Of course! Where do you think I met you?"

He sighed and resumed reading. The rest of the afternoon passed without much incident, except for the snide yet amiable barbs exchanged between us. It was much later that I realized he had not answered my question.

* * *

Having woken up from my afternoon nap, I was startled to see Malfoy staring at me.

"What?" I questioned irritably.

"You snore."

I was now wide awake and indignant.

"I do not!"

"You do. And pout too."

I inhaled deeply, ready for the rebuttal that was sure to follow, when we were interrupted by the door creaking open.

"Oh, hey Draco! Good that you are here-"

"Hermione, I've got your fav-"

Blaise Zabini and Ginny Weasley spoke up at the same time from the entrance. However, their abrupt pause was not due the presence of the other in the room, rather because of the very short distance between Malfoy and me. While sitting up straighter, I'd unintentionally brought my face closer to his and since we were in the middle of a future quarrel, neither of us had seemed to notice our close proximity.

It might have been a compromising position, had it not been for the neutral expression on our faces.

"My, my Miss Ginevra, you are looking mighty fetching this afternoon," Blaise regained his footing, trying to steer clear the awkwardness in the room.

"Huh? Oh, whatever, Zabini," Ginny dismissed his appraisal casually, rolling her eyes and walked into the room, "Hey Malfoy."

"Afternoon, Weasley," Malfoy smirked, sitting back straighter and picking up the papers he had been going through before I woke up.

Zabini moved his eyeballs back and forth between my husband and me, grinning wolfishly. He flung his cloak on Malfoy's bed, walked up to his friend and perched himself on the table, still grinning.

"Hermione, I've bought you butterscotch ice-cream. They would never provide you a dessert this tasty in a hospital."

"I'm sure, Miss Ginevra," Blaise interjected, still smirking at his best friend, who had suddenly become too engrossed in the case file he was perusing, "Draco would have taken utmost care to provide _his wife_ with the best dessert money could buy."

At once, Malfoy gave him a cold glare. They seemed to communicate wordlessly for a few moments, one smiling and the other sneering. Before the latter could answer Blaise, the door was once again opened and Harry Potter walked in.

"Great! Just what I needed," I heard Malfoy grumble.

Harry stopped short at the sight of Ginny. Both of them stared at each other for a long time and I was certain Ginny would leave first. Thankfully, neither of my friends seemed disposed to make a scene in front of two Slytherins and both looked away.

Suddenly, the room felt colder.

"What is it now, Potter? Hardinge giving you trouble?"

The question seemed to have reeled him back to reality and he blinked at Malfoy.

"Oh, no," he answered at last, sitting on my bedside, opposite Ginny, "I was here to visit Luna and thought I might check up on Hermione. You okay?" he smiled at me.

I couldn't form a response as Ginny tensed up by my side and I could have kicked Harry for mentioning Luna in front of her. Obviously, he had been spending too much time in Ron's company. She calmly placed the parcel of ice-cream on the table, beside Malfoy's files and stood up.

"I think I'd leave now."

"But Miss Ginevra, you just got here!" Did Zabini just whine?

"Don't call me that!" she snarled, suddenly angry.

"But that is your name, right?" Zabini ploughed on, serious for the first time since I'd seen him.

"It might be. But stop calling me that."

"Why ever should I do that, Ginevra?"

"Don't call me that," Ginny was red in the face and she was glaring at Blaise angrily.

"Tell me why not?"

"I don't have to tell you anything. Just shut your trap."

"I won't until you tell me why I shouldn't be calling you Ginevra."

"Don't!"

"But why Ginevra?"

"STOP IT!" she screamed, clutching her hair, "_**HE **_USED TO CALL ME THAT!"

"Oh, so only Potter is allowed to call you that, huh? A private endearment, is it?" Zabini stood up too, an ugly snarl twisting his face, "You wouldn't even look twice at people who care much more for you than Harry. You wouldn't even try, Ginevra? You are blinded by your infatuation with him. I've been trying for three months now to catch your attention but Ginevra-"

"STOP CALLING ME GINEVRA!!!"

Sometime during the ordeal both Harry and Malfoy stood up.

"Blaise, you-"

"You shut it, Draco. I want this over now. This woman has been playing a game of cat and mouse for too long," he shrugged his shoulder away from the other man's hold.

"Now you listen here, Ginev-"

I don't know who reacted first. But amidst the chaos that followed, Harry grabbed Blaise by his collar, Malfoy jumped out of the way, Ginny screamed and Healer Nott ran into the room.

Nott tried in vain to free Zabini from Harry's clutches.

"You don't know a thing about her," my friend whispered harshly. I had never seen him react so strongly and was confused whether he really had any feelings for Ginny.

"You wouldn't let anyone know a thing about her, eh Potter? Can't quite let go? Your blond girlfriend not loving enough, that you want to keep Ginevra on the side as a rebound?"

"Stop calling her that, I said!"

"I won't! Ginevra Weasley is what her name is. If you can call her by her given name, so can I."

"I've never called her _that_ word."

Malfoy was too busy staring at Ginny to pay attention to the heated fight between the two men. Her hair had become undone from the bun she had tied it into and tears were freely flowing down her cheeks.

"I don't need you to fight my battles anymore, Harry."

Silence.

Ginny managed to move towards the exit, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.

"I'll see you later, Hermione," her voice was thick with tears, "And Zabini," she muttered fiercely, "Never talk to me again. Ever."

Before Blaise could hurl another accusation at her, Harry clamped a hand on his mouth. Ginny quietly left the room, following which Zabini pulled away from Harry.

"Don't you dare call her Ginevra again."

When Blaise showed all signs of protesting, Harry continued, "She is a very close friend of mine, never a girlfriend. There was only one person who called her Ginevra and judging by her reaction, I'm sure you can guess it was not me."

Comprehension dawned and before anybody else in the room could react, I sat up.

Looking pointedly at Harry, my eyes wide, I mumbled, "Tom Riddle."

Blaise's head shot up, his eyebrows disappearing in his brown fringe.

"Ah, CRAP!" he swore aloud.

"Well done, Zabini. Excellent seduction tactic," Malfoy mock applauded.

"This is a hospital," Nott cried, his glasses askew and hair tousled.

"Sorry, Healer," Harry apologized sagely.

"CRAP!" Blaise swore again and took off in search of Ginny.

Harry departed shortly with the Healer, going on about lack of order in the institute, finally rendering the room silent.

"So, butterscotch ice-cream, eh? Never thought you'd have a sweet tooth."

My husband's marvelous ability to hide away from discomfiture was proved once again by his out of the blue random question.

"Blaise is so dead. I feel sorry for him."

Malfoy crooked an eyebrow, but didn't comment, keeping his true feelings regarding the situation under wraps as usual.

* * *

A week following the tussle at Mungo's, I was discharged. Narcissa warmly welcomed my presence in the house, while Lucius didn't seem to notice a change. My parents had been waiting just outside the hospital, sick with worry as they weren't allowed to visit me for the entire fortnight I had been there. Rumple was particularly anxious, furtively implying that he didn't trust my husband enough to leave me alone in his care. Unfortunately, as a side-effect of the curse, I sustained a limp that Healer Nott assured me would be cured within a period of five months. I would have to walk around with a cane in hand and since action was not possible in my state of handicap, I was once again assigned the hated job of paperwork. Lucius seemed to find the situation very funny and made constant jabs about 'women not fit for field work'. Unwilling to give in to his baiting, I chose to ignore him most of the time.

The days in the hospital seemed to have bridged the gap between Malfoy and me. He still made mean jokes about my friends and family, constant jabs about the impoverished state of Ron, my ineptitude in the Auror Department and Harry's over inflated ego. Through all this though, I realized that he had become marginally more talkative. It was like the transformation from a polar bear to grizzly bear. A bear, still as ruthless and savage, yet, sometime during those fateful fifteen days, he had shed part of his silent, frosty exterior.

One evening, while I was strolling, rather limping, through the gardens, Malfoy came up behind me.

"I'd like to talk," he said without preamble.

"What about?" I panted, clutching the cane tighter. Damn Nott for suggesting leg exercise.

He did not answer for a while, simply frowned.

"You are tired."

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" I was getting irritated, the pain in my legs catching up.

Again he remained mute, staring at me. Then with a swish of his wand, he conjured two chairs.

"Sit," he ordered.

"I'd prefer to stand." Hell, if I bow down to him. It might be painful, but standing for a few moments wouldn't kill me.

He raised his eyebrows mockingly and suddenly pushed me. I lost my balance on the cane and dropped unceremoniously into the cushioned cane chair. Furious, I tried to get up, but then I was looking straight at a pair of amused grey eyes, his hands on the armrests, effectively trapping me.

"Relax, Granger. I won't bite," he smirked, "yet."

"Get on with it," I crossed my arms, resigning myself to the fact that we would be here for sometime.

Suddenly, he stood up straight and turned his back to me. I was about to reprimand him for making a fool of me, when he began speaking, his voice lower than usual.

"Whatever might have transpired between us over the past months was the result of anger, suppressed anger and frustration. I might seem to have remained unaffected but it took me some time to come to terms with the fact that you are a new addition to my life, as unwanted an addition that might be. I think," he paused, sighing heavily, "we can get on with this arrangement in an amicable fashion, like adults."

He turned back, his eyelashes lowered, blond hair gleaming in the setting sun.

"I might have said a few hateful words to you in the past and I'm…I'm…I guess I'm sorry. For calling you a Mudblood for so long, for anything that I might have mentioned in passing before you left for Singyart, for everything that I said before Weasley in Mungo's and making life difficult for you."

He looked up at last, smirking at my open-mouthed look.

"Not that life won't be difficult for the remaining period that we would be connected to each other, but maybe not so cold anymore. I'm willing to make a genuine effort to be polite, if you are."

I couldn't say anything, except, "I'm always polite, Malfoy."

"Right," he rolled his eyes and turned away again, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his slacks. He then began walking away with me staring after him. Suddenly he raised his wand, swishing it in the air.

The chair vanished below me and I tumbled to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

"_MALFOY_!" I screeched after him.

He sniggered, turning his head sideways.

"Get your backside into the Manor, Granger! Life is always difficult with a Malfoy."

Not to be outdone, I managed to stand up slowly and hobble as fast as I could behind him.

He was chuckling loudly now.

"Excellent, Granger. You are learning already. Slow and steady wins the race!"

"Argh!"

We both walked up to the Manor, never realizing that we had begun smiling in earnest, not at having won a battle of wits, but simply at each other.


	13. Shark Tales

**Disclaimer**: **All identifiable characters of the Harry Potter series belong to J..**

**I'll not make excuses about being a lousy author. I might have lost a few readers and reviewers, thanks to my own lack of time to indulge in fanfiction. A hectic year at college, travelling twenty miles and university exams can put a damper on my ideas of updating regularly. To top it all, I have begun taking driving lessons. So sorry. With only a week of holidays, I'll try my best to update more.**

**The story is indeed moving at a slow pace but bear with me. Watch out for the subtle changes in the interaction between our main characters. We are a chapter short of being halfway done. Hope I still have at least a few readers left. I can't be sorry enough. You know readers and reviewers are the strength of any author. I hope to be able to deliver better. As always, uhh-**

**Happy Reading!**

**Chapter 13**

**Shark Tales**

Cardamom Hills was smoggy when we arrived. The weather had remained convivial to my moods for the past few weeks. Work was smooth and life bearable. A lesser man would have been content with the customary routine; however, with a lavish upbringing such as mine, contentment was as unlikely as a family dinner between Malfoys and Weasleys. However, Cardamom Hills was one of the few Malfoy properties that I genuinely enjoyed visiting. Amidst the backdrop of foggy mountains shrouded even in spring by dollops of clouds, Hills was a far cry from the usual grandeur that I was used to. Not that the estate was lacking in the number of penthouses or albino peacocks, Father's perpetual favourites, but the sense of calm that pervaded me every time I came here, was for lack of a better word, refreshing.

As far as birthday histories go, Mother had organized all my birthdays before and after Hogwarts at Cardamom Hills. More specifically at my bachelor hangout, 'Storm'.

A snort beside me ruined all daydreams of the house ever being close to a bachelor pad.

"Storm? Honestly Malfoy, how typical can you get?"

Months ago, and a comment like that would have been ammunition enough to flair my short temper and pave way for one of our habitual fights. But time had proved that marriage changes people. I have adopted the life motto of 'Live and let live'.

Granger would be the last person expected to partake in a private party of my own. I had tried every trick in the bag to get her off my back and miles away from Scotland if that were plausible. However, the female Malfoy, ahem, SBF played a dirty game behind me and convinced Granger, limp and all, to hop with me to the sunset in the highlands. On my big day, no less. Talk about kill joy!

"With the package you've secretly tucked away in your closet, Granger, I don't think you are in any way entitled to call me typical."

A bemused frown marred her forehead.

"And what pray tell are you implying?"

"That, I've already realized you've bought your darling husband a book as his birthday gift. You, gift, book. Typical, yeah?"

Her cheeks flushed and I couldn't be certain whether it was the cold getting to her or-

"You are wrong. I did not buy you a book," she waggled her eyebrows smugly.

"Not a book? Please, Granger, don't insult my intelligence."

"Think what you wish, Malfoy. It only increases the surprise element."

With that, she made her way towards Storm, her limp quite evident.

Not a book, she said. Her simple green package tied with a white string was indeed not so conspicuous to enthrall me. The bint could lie as much as she wished. I knew full well what a Flourish and Blott book pack looked like. I just hoped that it wouldn't be one of her dear personal collections like "Walking with Werewolves", "Housekeeping with Elves" or something new and horrible like "Gobbling with Goblins".

* * *

Grandma Cybele had arrived a day following our own arrival here. Father had miraculously taken leave of all engagements to spend the weekend. Blaise, though present in form, was forever gloomy and not even taking the opportunity to pull my leg. I confronted him a few days before the party.

"If you are here to act like a recovering drunk, should have been better off home."

He glared at me, cheek twitching.

"You and your wife can happily dance around without dragging me about. This, whatever this is, is making me sick. That's all."

"Don't drag Granger into this," I snapped, "You are solely responsible for whatever happened with Weasley's sister."

He got up from the chair across me.

"Getting defensive, are we? I was under the impression that you thought of Hermione as a mudblood."

I didn't know what compelled me to say what I said next. His comment shouldn't have had any effect on me. In fact, I knew it was all ruse meant to provoke.

"Don't call her that."

I gritted my teeth. Hermione Granger might be of lowly birth and dirty blood but now that she shared the Malfoy name, I couldn't stand by and let anyone sully my family.

He rubbed a weary hand on his forehead and made his way slowly towards me. Crouching down to my level, Blaise narrowed his eyes.

"Once you have solved problems of your own heart, you can extend the services to others. Till that time, stay out of my business, Birthday boy."

Nappy buddies like us seldom engaged in man rows. I preferred calling our disputes Man rows for the sole reason that we both preferred quiet quarrels with minimal handy work. Yet, it was odd for Zabini to be his prat self on my birthday and even weirder to badmouth Granger. According to him, she was the best witch in the whole wide world.

I clenched my fists impulsively.

"Are you jealous?" I growled.

Blaise looked startled for a minute, his earlier bitterness quite gone. Then, suddenly, he began chuckling.

"Merlin, Draco! I wouldn't dare step into your territory. Not that Hermione is lacking in anyway to be satisfied by a mediocre wizard such as you, but for the sake of friendship, I would never look at her like that."

At some point during the conversation, I too had stood up. Hearing his ridiculous comment, I relaxed my fingers. As if I had anything to do with Granger; as if she would look at another wizard besides Weasley; as if Zabini didn't have his own Weasley to be focused on.

I grasped his shoulder lightly.

"What I meant, Zabini, was that, are you jealous of the fact that Granger and I, despite being enemies for eons, have begun to get along while you are struggling to maintain small talk with Weaslette?"

His silence was all the confirmation I needed.

"Damn it, Blaise! Could you get anymore sappy? Just apologize and get over it. And, for the sake of all things Slytherin, stop ruining my birthday."

He gave me a dirty look. "Sod off."

I gave him a warning glare and stalked off. Women were far more trouble than was worth. For the past few months, my life was in tatters thanks to the active role of my girlfriend, mother and of course, my wife. Now Granger's little red haired friend had taken it upon herself to ruin my only ally on my birthday. I was certain that the mighty power above guarding the cocoon of miseries was also a woman. No wonder it too was ruined beyond repair.

* * *

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Draco. Happy birthday to you!"

I scowled angrily at the dwarf singing at the top of his lungs. His ridiculous rhyme had everyone clapping except Father and Grandma. They stared unblinkingly at the tiny man, probably fascinated by such a non-ugly elf. Rumpy and Grandma had had a huge row just yesterday; something about 'little ugly muggles' and 'blond grey hags'.

Father had found it unsettling to bear a muggle traipsing day in and day out of his magnificent house. He had issued a warning that the Rumple fellow may be present only on important occasions at the manor. At other times, he was to stay far away from anything Malfoy. For the most part, Granger's babysitter adhered to the rules imposed. Certainly my wife's arguments were pretty convincing.

Juventas leaped once the song ended and engulfed me in a tight hug. Mother followed shortly; she did not hug but leaned forwards and planted a kiss on my cheek. My face was surely a flaming red. Giving me an affectionate pat, she wiped away a stray tear. I felt a tug towards her. She, for whom, I would sacrifice my own happiness. This woman, who had endured the worst of all horrors to maintain normalcy in my life, meant more to me than anyone else. I realized then that perhaps love might not be much of a weakness after all. My affection might not always have been an act at to fulfill some pureblood doctrine.

Father raised an interested eyebrow at the scene. Then, smirking, he extended a hand for me to shake.

"Happy birthday, son."

His lips twitched suspiciously and a flicker of something I could not decipher passed through his eyes. For the first time in what seemed like decades, I saw him hide a tender smile.

The party was a small gathering of friends, family, Granger and dwarfy. Pansy arrived mere minutes before I cut the cake and swooped down on me. Her presence had been a sweet surprise.

* * *

A small stack of heavily wrapped presents awaited my attention on the study table in the library. Rumy had been arranged to transport all gifts there. As was custom, I trudged my way up the marble staircase to the brightly lit hallway ahead. Generally midnight is the hour for normal humans to be fast asleep but normal does not include bookwormish baboons. Granger was slouched over a far table by the fireplace with a heavy tome that looked millennia old with a million pages. Apparently, it was a directory of sorts about the whereabouts of all criminals right from the age of Merlin himself. The department head had advised her to go through it for clues. Well, for Granger, _go through_ meant memorize back to back.

"Are you here to open your gifts or stare at me like a creep?"

Startled, I narrowed my eyes at her lowered bushy head.

"Are you here to study the case or spy on me?"

She didn't reply. Something else in the text caught her attention and she began scribbling frantically.

_Freak._

Father gifted me a villa in Austria. Honestly, the man was born to spoil me. Not only had I inherited his streak of arrogance, but his extravagant presents year after year reiterated the fact that there was a valid reason for the same.

Mother presented a platinum charm bracelet looped like a Chinese dragon and a set of cufflinks.

Juventas' gift was an exotic collection of quills. Exotic because the set had rare ones like a phoenix and albatross quill. Blaise presented a gift pack from Twilift and Tattings Winter Collection. I remembered vaguely telling him that I had an eye on the green fur cloaks introduced this season in Paris. The cloaks hadn't been released yet in England.

At last only two unopened boxes remained. The smaller of the two was wrapped in expensive gold foil with a card attached to it.

"_Happy Birthday, Draco_

_Love, Pansy_

_PS: Happy belated Anniversary."_

I smiled, tracing her name with a finger tip.

"Ahem."

Granger had seemingly abandoned her book scouring marathon momentarily to stare at the green package beside Pansy's gift. Obviously, she was keen to see my reaction to her meager present.

"Excited, Granger?"

"You are the birthday boy!" she snorted, averting her gaze to the dying fire.

Deliberately, I unwrapped Pansy's gift first. With careful fingers, I peeled away the last of the gold wrapping. From the corner of my eye, I could see Granger looking on curiously.

Once the last of the foil had come undone, a silver brooch lay on my palm.

"See that? This is what is expected of a Malfoy gift."

An intricate pattern of diamonds, emeralds and sapphires covered the front of the trinket. A closer look proved that it was an ornament handcrafted by goblins. Perhaps, a family heirloom of Pansy's.

Granger gave me an apathetic stare.

"That is so conventional, Malfoy. Rich boys and their even richer toys. A gift entails so many other-"

"We shall see how much thought you put in while buying me a book."

"Its _not_ a book," she argued adamantly.

"Sure."

I tore open the package the package, none of the dexterity from before evident now. Granger looked slightly offended.

Inside the green wrapper was a black box. Confused, I opened the lid and peaked in. My mouth hung open.

"Robes? What the- Ridiculous!"

"Well, you haven't even looked at them properly." She stood up.

"Yes, I have. They are brown. You should know by now that it is the colour-"

"Of mud?" She was definitely angry now.

"Yes. But it is also the colour I hate."

She swallowed uneasily. Apparently, her past presents had never been rejected.

"You don't have brown robes. At least I have never seen you wear any."

This woman had lost her marbles. Not only had she bought me something I hated, but even had the gall to justify it.

"There is a reason I do not wear brown. In case you missed it the first time, I'll repeat- because I hate it.'

"All right,' she all but screeched, "Don't wear them. Not that I expected anything else of you.'

I raised a cold eyebrow. She inhaled sharply.

"You have no regard for others. Rather than appreciate the fact that I thought of buying you a gift which was supremely unnecessary, might I add, here you are ridiculing me. Not all gifts are measured by their value in money, Malfoy. Of course, you wouldn't know that. For you everything is about money, pureblood, status and did I mention money-"

"Of course, everything is measured in terms of wealth. Just because you've been cozy with a beggar like Weasley-"

"Don't you dare drag Ron into this," she warned. Her eyes were flashing, a swirl of the same muddy brown as the robes she had so _thoughtfully_ purchased.

"Look Granger, lets not fight. Not on my birthday, at least."

"Hah! There it is- **_My_** birthday. Do you have even a single selfless bone in your body? Let me guess- No! I really feel sorry for Pansy, who'll have to spend a lifetime with a man void of even an ounce of compassion. No woman deserves such a terrible fate."

The bitch was getting on my nerves with her nonsensical babble. Just because I never sugarcoated my words, did not automatically make me cruel.

"You know nothing about me, Granger," I snarled, barely containing my wrath.

"Really," she mocked, oblivious to the shift in my demeanor, "Lets see what I have inferred so far, shall we? You are a foul, loathsome, evil, selfish, little-"

"COME WITH ME!"I roared and walked swiftly out of the library.

Obviously, she did not follow. The witch would make a murderer of me. Uncaring of the consequences, I marched back and dragged her by the arm outside.

"Where the hell are you taking me, Malfoy? I demand that you stop manhandling me this instant."

She searched in vain for her wand, already abandoned by the fireplace in the room. We walked a few yards into the garden. Granger kept up a string of obscenities which would have made Father blush. Despite being petite, she was one strong woman. Years of experience as an Auror often take a toll on the female body.

"We are here," I announced unnecessarily into the darkness.

"Where? Your torture chamber?"

I ignored her and traced a faint pattern in the air with a finger. She squinted even in the dim light to see clearly. Trust Granger to resort to nosy mode even at midnight.

Withdrawing my wand from the sleeve of my pajamas, I murmured, "Expecto patronum."

A huge silvery mass erupted from the wand tip and vanished into the foliage of the orchard.

"Is that a-"

"Never seen my patronus, have you?" I smirked at the open surprise written on her features.

"Well, to be truthful, I expected it to be something like a dragon," she stuttered, shivering slightly in the cold. Her limp was probably acute now, as was clear from the grimace she was trying to conceal. I barely masked the foreign feeling I recognized as guilt.

Silently, I conjured a wrap for her. She stared at it for a few minutes, then without saying a word draped it around her shoulders. The bushy crown atop her head had begun fizzing in the night air.

"Really now, Granger, you are the genius here. Something as big as a dragon can _never_ be corporal enough. Patronuses drain wizards of their magic and with time become an integral part of the magic within. It would take an unfair investment of strength to even conjure a dragon, let alone maintain it for a lifetime."

She snorted, clearly unimpressed. I scowled.

"Get your facts right, Malfoy. Koshvareev of Siberia was the first wizard in 1808 to produce the foremost patronus of a dragon. His sons after him produced dragon patronuses as well. However, it was Koshvareev himself who could maintain as you so correctly said, a _corporal_ patronus. He was a dragon tamer at the time and a wizard with twice the magic of Dumbledore and Voldemort combined. After him though, not many wizards were born who could produce even a hatchling of the beast."

I blinked. Apparently, this was the signal that meant _go on_ in Grangertongue.

"His patronus was a Welsh Green, incidentally, one of the smaller species. A man of his caliber could only boast of a mini dragon patronus. As for you," she turned towards me, her eyes sharp just like I remembered them being the day she met my grandmother, and closed my lower jaw that had become unhinged sometime during her monologue, "Since all your life, everything you've done has been predictable, it was a mere guess that your patronus too would be typical. _Draco_, dragon. Typical, yeah?"

I tried diverting her attention away from the topic she was so proficient with, trying to not make an even more of a fool of myself.

"Don't act smart, Granger." I was sorry that I conjured the wrap. She could have frozen in the night and become a human fossil for all I cared.

She giggled uncharacteristically, "I don't have to _act_ Malfoy. Unlike you, I'm already smart."

Before I could retort to her cheeky jab and create a blunder like the Venezuelan Tussle by calling her a mudblood, we were interrupted by a voice.

"Master Malfoy, you called?"

Granger jerked and caught my wrist. Then, realizing what she had done, let go just as quickly. I ignored her actions.

"Parthus, I hope the project can be opened now, even though its short notice."

The balding wizard in his late two hundreds probably, stooped down in a gesture of servitude.

"For you, Master, but of course."

Granger was watching the exchange dumbly, shooting furtive glances at the stranger. Unconsciously, she moved a few steps towards me.

Parthus vanished back into the darkness and in his wake a cobbled pathway materialized before us.

"Where the hell are we, Malfoy? And who is that creepy old man?"

Was there a shiver in her tone? Good. The chit was scared. All the better. I smirked evilly.

"Not very familiar with werewolves, I see."

My inner demon was laughing raucously at the white pale face she now sported. My amusement might have shown, because she narrowed her eyes.

"Start talking _now_, Malfoy."

"Why don't you see for yourself?" I led the way into the building the pathway led to. Scared as she was, my wife followed mutely behind.

After walking for another five minutes we came to a glass door. Wordlessly, I opened it, sure that Granger would follow. We entered, to be assaulted by the sound of rippling water and an expanse of blue. In the glass case that made up the walls and ceiling of the room swam over a hundred-

"Are those-"

"Sharks? Yes, Granger they are sharks. There is a reason my patronus is one."

She did not say a word but twirled around the room in awe, her eyes mesmerized. Gone was the anger and sorrow. Our fight over her cheap gift seemed to have taken place in another time, another world. In the sea of blue light, she glowed, a shine so scarce for a plain woman like her. Her features were lifted in an expression I had never seen before and a charming smile graced her lips. I realized then, that I had been staring.

_Wake up_

"Impressed, yet?"

She squeaked when one of the sharks swam closer to the glass, snapping its jaws.

"What is this place?" she half whispered, extending a shaking hand towards the shark that had begun to swim away.

"The only _Wizarding Shark Conservatory _in United Kingdom."

"You do realize that-," she looked down at her slippers, "-sharks aren't magical."

"Of course they aren't magical. But they are ferocious."

She smiled. Looking around once more, she moved towards another one that had come close to the surface.

"So, is this conservatory within your estate?"

"I run the project," I replied simply. Her dumbfounded stare compelled me to do something childish like shout out- _Gotcha_, but years of practice helped me act my gentlemanly self in dire circumstances of the given sort.

"You-"

"You can stop repeating after me, Granger. Yes, I run the project- meaning I aid it financially, physically and magically. The sharks have been brought in by my agents who monitor shark poaching in the States and Australia. We are an autonomous body who work for the welfare of, well, sharks."

She shook her head.

"That is so unlike you, Malfoy. You are not the sort to care for anyone else."

"Your delusion is remarkable. Just because one chooses to conceal the good deeds done and not advertise them to the world, does not involuntarily make them a bad person. I have done a few things in my childhood that would be categorized as school yard harassment. Judging a person by what that they did years before does not speak much of fairness and justice that you and your friends preach about."

She turned away and stared mutely at the big creatures swimming away, oblivious to the visitors. She didn't talk for a long time, chewing thoughtfully at the bottom lip.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I shouldn't have used those harsh words. But then again," she turned about, facing me, "You also insulted my gift."

I rolled my eyes. She was still sore about those robes.

"What would you do if someone sent you a burnt book on your birthday?"

"I'd be horrified. More like startled."

"Same goes for me," I shrugged, "If something I hate is sent as a birthday gift, I'd react the same way. My reaction may seem odious but I'm not known for pretty words, am I?"

Granger merely stood there. Her eyes glazed over in the dim light. The pale blue reflecting off made her look ethereal. A wordless agreement seemed to have transpired.

"Lets go."

* * *

We walked away. Granger following closely, her wrap wound tightly around her.

We reached Storm and I led her to her room in the far corner of the first floor. It was well past midnight. I stood there at the door, waiting for her to get in. She stayed unmoving, staring at me. Only the sounds of the night and the wind whistling among the trees could be heard.

Unconsciously we moved towards each other. Her eyes still glazed over, her cheeks rosy from the cold. We stood about a foot apart and if I leaned down enough we would-

_No. DO. NOT. GO. THERE._

An errant curl swirled about her face, dancing in tune to the cold wind. I moved my hand to drive away the distracting strand and tucked it safely behind her ear. The contact seemed to have jolted her, because she stepped away hastily. I silently repressed a pang of-was that- _disappointment_.

"Well," I cleared my throat, "Good night, Granger."

"Yeah," she mumbled mechanically, "Same to you."

I turned away, realizing that my thoughts were on the brink of departure to dangerous territories if I stood there any longer looking at her. My aim was to make my way far away from the strange scene and even stranger occurrence as swiftly as possible. Whatever compelled me to prove to her that I was not the selfish prat she thought me to be? She was just an unwanted addition to an year of my life. Why involve her in matters that did not concern her in any regard? Why now?

_Why, indeed?_

Contemplating, I made my way to the master suite a few paces away.

"Malfoy," she called.

_Don't stop, keep moving_. I tried in vain to stop my legs from lessening their pace, but to no avail.

"Happy birthday."

The sound of a door being shut, propelled me to my room. I tore away the traveling cloak, flinging it carelessly on the armchair. Then, stomping madly about for a few more minutes, I threw myself on the bed. As a restless sleep claimed my droopy lids, I felt my wrist still tingling warmly where Granger had touched.

_Happy birthday_.

_CRAP!_


	14. Resounding Wedding Bells

**Disclaimer: All identifiable characters of the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling.**

**The number of reviews is a disappointment but I know it is partly my fault too. This chapter was updated faster and I hope that at least some of you would review. Please, as I said before, reviews are an assessment of what the audience feels about my work. This is a venture with a hidden motive of improving my writing skills. Indulge me just this once, won't you? Good, bad, disgusting- all comments are welcome. Cookies await you!**

**Meanwhile, a big round of thanks to Grff-Slytherin, cupid17 and the anon reviewer who was the first to review chapter 13. Love you all.**

**Without much ado,**

**Happy Reading!**

**Chapter 14**

**Resounding Wedding Bells **

August was warmer than last year. Deep in the bowels of the Ministry, well nestled several feet below ground level, the air surrounding the Auror Headquarters, though, was rather frosty, thanks to excessively placed Cooling Charms. Used to the chill of the Slytherin dormitories, the temperature was barely a bother. After the appalling and rather discomforting turn of events a few months prior, Moody was not quite confident with me as he had been before. In my entire career, I had hardly been summoned to his office. The last time I had come here was to collect my monthly training schedule with Nymphadora. The man was ugly to look at and emanated a vibe of filthiness in general. You would certainly be happy to be not his favourite and steer clear of his sanctuary for as long as you lived. Sadly, I was not deemed to be happy.

"Malfoy," he barked, "Pay attention when I speak to you, boy."

There was a sick pleasure he derived from referring to every other male in the department as _boy._ As if he was the macho man around.

_Blind and limp are so in vogue._

"BOY!"

"I'm all ears, _sir_," I retorted, suddenly empathizing with Potter who had had the great fortune to train under this troll's tutelage.

"The Gibbon reports are pending as you very well know. Potter, it seems, is busy at the moment and I cannot entrust my entire department on his lone fragile shoulders."

Trust him to lick Potter's feet even when the man was mentioned in third person.

"I understand, sir."

"Good," his eerie eye swiveled about the cabin, "I require you to take up the Enjutre Muggle case with Goldstein. The fellow has had quite a few holidays to last a lifetime. Its high time he bucked up."

"Of course," I suppressed a yawn.

"As your wife is temporarily incapacitated, you are also assigned to the Twin Blasts in Devon. You can collect the records from my secretary and kindly request Mrs. Malfoy to return my book. She has had it for half a year now."

For a second, I was unsure as to why my mother would borrow anything from this specimen of a wizard. But then, I realized that Moody meant Granger as the new Mrs. Malfoy.

_Can't forget that, can you? _

Having arguments in your head signify a premature precursor of psychosis. The man opposite was still babbling on about blah blah blah Cursed Cottage blah blah Scotland blah blah American involvement blah blah and again blah blah blah. I tuned out his drivel halfway through, staring around the office. A Stonehenge photograph hung on the opposite wall, a painting of some sort of bird and another wizarding picture of Moody beside Dumbledore. Seeing pictures on the otherwise plain wall was a shock in itself; seeing_ smiling_ moving photographs of Moody was downright creepy. As if I did not have enough cause for nightmares already.

"We are done here, boy," he dismissed, "And send in your wife if you see her."

He grinned displaying yellowed teeth.

_Yuck_

Practically running from the room, I made my way swiftly to his secretary. The witch was an insult to the word itself. Stooped over with soda glasses sliding down a hooked nose, she resembled a woman brought back from the grave itself. She was perchance the oldest lady, if such a word was applicable, in the entire Ministry. I had my suspicions that she might be Moody's wife or worse his mother. The physical resemblance was just too evident to overlook.

"Ugh, Mister Moody has asked me to-"

"The Enjutre Murder case," she began, withdrawing a peach folder from the recesses of her drawer, "The Devon blasts," another pink file, "And the Gibbon Reports," she neatly stacked a purple dossier atop the slowly increasing pile and began jotting down something on a notepad nearby. Apparently, this was her gesture of dismissal.

When I did not leave instantly, she raised beady black eyes at me.

"Anything else, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I was not told to handle the Gibbon reports."

I was not used to being overworked and being assigned other's work too.

"Of course you were. Alastor mentioned them at the very beginning. He did not spell it out to you but he did mention in passing that they were pending. This obviously means that you are to take over."

Her voice reminded me of McGonagall. I was suddenly aware that the woman might not be stereotype secretary material, but she sure was able.

"All right," I conceded tiredly. Early morning fights ruin the entire week and since today was unfortunately a Monday, I let the hag's condescending attitude slide. Levitating the files, I made my way to the office at the end of the floor.

* * *

Chameleon Syndrome was what I had labeled Zabini's attitude for the week. Just last weekend he had been sore over the fight with Weaslette and unexpectedly, here he was today, grinning like a loon. Blaise had been in my office for the past two hours spouting gossip, _as usual_, and I wondered vaguely what he did here that classified as _work_.

His inner school girl was more persistent than normal and I was only half listening to the enthusiastic chatter he was trying to drag me into.

"Guess what?" he asked rather suddenly.

I had a horrible sense of alertness at his question. The last time he had uttered those words, my life had had a downhill tumble mere weeks after.

"You can continue if you wish. Not that I'm paying the slightest attention."

"This is the biggest secret you could never guess even if you worried your pretty little head over it."

"Don't call me pretty," I sneered at him.

He leaned forward exaggeratedly, shoving his face over the file I was going through. I miserably wished for the times he had been dismal.

"It's about Potter," he whispered conspiringly, as though afraid the hush-hush talk might leak out through the walls.

_Potter? _

"What about the freak?" I shrugged nonchalantly.

"Ah, curious, are we?"

He waggled his eyebrows triumphantly. I wondered if he would ever give up the chitchat attitude.

"Hardly," I snorted, careful to keep my features neutral, belying my inner interest.

"Well, apparently, Potter has decided to settle down for good."

"As in getting married," I asked, eyebrow raised sharply. At his nod, I realized the reason for Zabini's impetuous gaiety.

"And I'm to ascertain that the bride-to-be is not of Weasley origin," I asked, half-amused as his head shot up in alarm.

"What are you insinuating?" he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

I did not answer, merely turned my attention to the Devon case once again. Blaise did not press further but sadly reverted back to his earlier cheery self.

"I'm the only one who knows."

"_What?_" I asked, incredulous, abandoning all pretence of being interested in the case.

"Well, Potter didn't actually confide in me; more like I stumbled across the evidence."

At my silent look, he continued, "I was visiting him yesterday and-"

"You went to Potter's house? When did you two become such thick friends?"

He shrugged as though the matter was of no significance at all.

"Draco, fact is that one of the better Aurors in the Ministry is getting married and do you realize what this means?"

At my blank stare, he rolled his eyes.

"That your own marriage will be thrown out of the limelight for good."

"And this is a bad thing because-?"

He stood up abruptly and began pacing about the office. His enthusiasm to discuss weddings was so bizarre. The Blaise I remembered would have fled from anywhere near the hint of commitment. His playboy attitude had come to a staggering halt in the previous months and I was sure that a certain redheaded bint was the cause.

Just as he prepared to voice his troubles, a red envelope floated into my office.

It was a howler.

It stopped, hovering, beside Zabini's nose, who had frozen in place.

"_BLAISE ZABINI,_

_YOU ARE HEREBY SUSPENDED FOR A PERIOD OF THREE DAYS FOLLOWING YOUR FAILURE TO ACKNOWLEDGE MY REPEATED SUMMONS AT THE EARLIEST. YOUR PERPETUAL ABSENCE FROM OFFICE HAS ALSO BEEN BROUGHT TO MY NOTICE. DESPITE PRIOR WARNINGS, YOU'VE CONTINUED NEGLECTING THE CASES AWAITING YOUR PERUSAL. THIS IS THE LAST OF MANY REPRIMANDS AND SHOULD THE COMPLACENCY AND NEGLIGENCE CONTINUE AFTER THE SUSPENSION, NEXT WILL BE PERMANENT DISMISSAL. MARK MY WORDS, BOY!"_

_Oops!_

The ash remains floated to his feet and he looked up with wide eyes.

"Damn!"

He dashed out, almost knocking over Goldstein, who at that time was leisurely making his way to my office.

"In a hurry, is he?" the blond questioned, perching himself regally on _my desk_ without invitation. If there was anyone I could not stand besides a Hufflepuff, it was a Ravenclaw. Since Gryffindors were a mixture of the two, I hated them too. On period, of course.

Goldstein was an intelligent, good-looking, blond Ronald Weasley, if such a creature was possible, hypothetically speaking. His records were pristine, second only to Granger and he was infamous for closing cases as fast as Potter, if not faster. The fellow was efficient, obviously Ravenclaw defined the word, but the attitude that came with the brain and brawn was downright infuriating.

"Good morning to you too, Goldstein. Holidaying high over yet?"

"Ah," he stretched his arms in a gesture of lethargy, blindly picking up a crystal shark figurine from my table, "Holidaying is my passion. I hear congratulations are in order though. I apologize for not being there at your wedding. Hermione sure had her complaints."

I grasped the file I was perusing a little tighter as he began idly throwing the crystal piece. A quiet_ accio_ and the figurine returned to its original place on the table. At the peak of my irritation, I laced my fingers, dropping the file on the desk.

"Pleasantries aside, Goldstein, I should remind you that you are way too early for a meeting. I sent an owl setting the time at lunch."

"Oh, I got your owl, all right," he smirked in an ill imitation of myself, it seemed, "but you know how it is, the earlier you start, the earlier you finish. Not that your company is any less invigorating than it had been at Hogwarts, however, I prefer to be free of your charming presence at the earliest."

His grin was an insult. Then, in a show of blitheness, he examined his _fingernails._

_How dare he examine his ugly talons in my office?_

"Besides, I have a lunch date. You catch my drift, yeah?" He winked for extra measure.

_Sod your dumb date, wanker._

But office etiquette demanded that I not voice my real idea.

"Sorry to disappoint, Goldstein. I'm not free now and since you are busy at lunch, we can switch the meeting for after-hours. I'm sure an hour after six won't be much trouble," I said trying my best to keep my legs in check and not kick the git right out of the office.

His smiling visage contorted into a snarl.

"Don't you have a wife to get back to, Malfoy?" he spat my name with such venom that I was for a moment a little cautious. But the momentary lapse in his amusement fueled my inner glee.

"Not that its any of your business, but my wife won't complain." I smirked, showing him the exact way it should be done.

"Fine," he ground out, walking briskly out of the office, his purple robes swinging in his wake.

_Purple? Talk about being sophisticated-not. Probably a patron of Lockhart's._

* * *

Goldstein's stunt in the morning had deprived me of the zest I normally maintained on Mondays. His face was like a bad omen. I hated being paired off at work. The majority of the time the other fool assigned to assist me with a case wouldn't have spare brain cells to rub together and sometimes to add insult to injury it would turn out to be someone as pompous as Purple Robed Ponce.

I had cancelled all owl posts to my workplace and incessantly pored over the Devon case for a long four hours. Before I knew it, the time was half past five already. My grumbling stomach reminded me that I had missed lunch. Oh well, nothing that a quick snack couldn't fix.

A cup of coffee and two chicken sandwiches later at the Ministry canteen, I was back to wait for Goldstein to show up. Promptly at ten to six, he sauntered into the cabin and threw himself on the lounge at the far corner. Gone was the purple robe from before and in its place he had chosen a blue silk shirt and loose black pants.

_What the- _

"This is not a date, Goldstein. Your fancy clothes are taking a toll on my brain."

"Can't handle pretty boys, eh?" he grinned like a wolf.

Suddenly, I had a very bad sense of foreboding. I tried recollecting the names or faces of the women he had dated in the past year. Working in the same department, I would sure have noticed him flaunting his girlfriends just like he did with everything else. Abruptly, I remembered that he never dated any women at the Ministry. Maybe someone from outside then?

His lecherous stare quickly reminded me that this man might be of a wholly different _orientation_.

_Maybe not many women._

I swallowed. Never to turn away from the face of a crisis, I composed myself to continue undeterred.

We worked silently for a total of forty-five minutes, with Goldstein trying intermittently to flirt by throwing knowing glances my way. He was thoroughly enjoying my discomfort.

_Bloody Poof!_

At precisely six fifty, we were interrupted by someone zooming into the office. Before I could reprimand the intruder for his ill-manners, Goldstein beat me to it.

"Hermione," he almost sang, "What a pleasant surprise. You keep getting more and more beautiful every time I see you."

There stood Granger by the door, blinking owlishly at my co-worker.

She was dressed up in a pale gold dress that fell to her knees with a wide sash in black around the waist with a buckle low on her hip. A moment later, she smiled at Goldstein and threw herself at him.

_Here we go. Another one of her man friends._

"I heard of your accident. Everything fine?" he mumbled over her shoulder.

"Anthony, you are back! I'm fine. Susan was just telling me yesterday how you've bought a house in Madrid. You two moving in there?"

"Nah," he smiled, "just a holiday home for the time being. I plan to propose soon and make us official."

"That's wonderful! You both so deserve each other."

I was faintly certain that Granger might start clapping her hands together any minute now, such was her happiness. And what bloke would ever live to be called _Susan_. The name was just so damn girly.

The two other occupants seemed to have finally realized that I too was an unwanted addition in their midst. Goldstein peeled himself away from Granger's embrace with much reluctance. She, for her part, continued talking to Fancy Dress Clown, though keeping her steady gaze on me.

"Anthony, would you mind stepping out a minute? I need to talk to Malfoy here, um, privately."

I raised an eyebrow at her request.

The other man did not stall and removed himself from the room with a quick nod to me.

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

Once Goldstein had cleared off, I immediately began shuffling through the papers littered on the desk.

"What is it that you want, Granger? And why the hell are you all decked up?" I asked, picking up a random quill to keep up the image that I had better things to do than waste my valuable time in her presence.

She moved towards the same lounge Goldstein had occupied earlier and sat down precariously, as though scared that any sudden movement might disturb the elegant knot she had tied her hair into.

_Elegant?_

"Um, Malfoy, I want to ask you a favour," she fidgeted uneasily, "That is, would you mind going on a date with me tonight?"

Nothing but the shock of that statement caused me to look up and stare at her as though she had developed an extra nose. She was dressed up in one of her more expensive dresses. A closer look showed that she had put on make-up too, which was very, very rare for her. The wedding ring gleamed brightly on her finger and she had adorned a gold chain with a huge leaf pendant resting on her collarbone. Belatedly, I realized she had borrowed Mother's jewellery.

"Ah, Granger I don't think I heard you right the first time. Did you just ask me out on a date? Because forgive me if I'm mistaken but the concept of you, me and date is thoroughly impossible."

She stilled her drumming fingers and looked up, a cool mask sliding into place.

"Actually, Malfoy, it is a group date. Harry invited me. He is announcing his engagement."

_Look surprised, look surprised! Drop your jaw in shock! _

My acting skills, probably, weren't much at par as Granger simply rolled her eyes.

"Don't even try to act surprised. I know that you know that Harry was planning to propose."

"Be what that may, Granger, but your friends' love lives are of no interest to me. In fact, I cannot think of a more bland topic."

She hardly moved, more like seated herself comfortably on the sofa, depositing the purse and wand on the coffee table.

"You can dazzle me with your amazing wit later. Now, can we just go? It's a small affair. Won't take much time. You just have to show up and then you can leave as quickly as you wish."

She was becoming edgy with each passing second.

"Whatever gave you the delusion that I'd even like to make an appearance. Potter hasn't invited me and I'm sure not in the habit of gatecrashing. So, if you wish to attend, go by yourself."

I returned my attention to the papers. In my haste, I had arranged them all wrong. More flustered than before, I rapidly started rearranging them.

_Why the hell was she still sitting here? And where the hell had the Nerdy Ponce hibernated to?_

"Parkinson and Zabini are attending and I promised Harry that you would come, too."

"Remind me the day Potter and I became bosom buddies."

"Your friends will be there too, and if not anything else, you can always keep them company." Her calmness was deteriorating slowly and any minute now, the sleek hairstyle was sure to tumble back into the fizzy bush it was.

_But this is so much better._

I mentally pushed in cotton into my ears so that the babble of my inner self could not disrupt me.

"Look Granger, I have work-"

"I'll arrange for it to be done and completed tomorrow itself. I know you are dealing with the blast cases I was assigned earlier," she blushed.

"But Potter-"

"Please Malfoy, just this once. Only one favour. _Please._"

Her beseeching tone produced a faint ringing in my head and suddenly images of her flashed before me.

_Granger in a simple wedding dress, stepping forlornly down the aisle. Granger in a grey skirt and white office shirt arguing vehemently with Grandma Cybele. Granger in ordinary white pajamas, twirling in a glow of deep blue with awe written across her face._

Of all her expressions my mind could recollect, there wasn't one with pleading eyes or earnest voice.

_Damn it._

Without a word, I picked up my cloak from behind the chair and made my way to the door, ignoring her the entire time. Then, once the door handle had turned, I sneered without turning back.

"You owe me big time, Granger."

* * *

Oberon Bistro was one of the few elite hotels in Diagon Alley. It was often frequented by Father in his youth. The cheapest dish served was in the range of a few fifty galleons and a good wholesome meal could put a dent on your pocket. I was a little less extravagant than my father and hence chose to dine here only on weekends and not on a daily basis.

If not anything else, Potter sure had good taste.

Granger was particularly ecstatic over the fact that Potter had put an end to his monkshood and decided to venture into the turbulent waters of wedding bliss.

"Granger," I reminded her patiently as we were strolling through Diagon Alley, "you are already married and not in any sort of bliss if your attitude is any proof."

Her good mood was not dissuaded in the slightest.

"Oh Malfoy, our marriage was an accident. Just think about what it would have felt like to be married to Pansy, you know the woman you love. The beauty of marriage can never be realized if you are tied up with someone you hate."

I didn't know whether it was she who hated me, because I definitely did not hate her. Maybe, I loathed her to a very high degree or rather disliked her character and looks in general. But hate was just too strong a word. You wouldn't concede to the request of a nemesis.

_Of course you wouldn't._

That irksome inner voice sounded like Zabini.

Changing the subject, I asked her the question I was most curious to know the answer to.

"So, who's the bride-to-be?"

"Luna," she replied, "You remember Luna Lovegood from Hogwarts?"

"Ravenclaw, long flaxen hair, protuberant eyes and dumb talk, yeah?"

She did not like my description as the smile vanished, but she nodded jerkily.

"Ron will be there."

I tensed for no apparent reason.

"I know, you can't stand him, but please let there not be anymore fights tonight."

_Why the little-_

"Listen, Granger, and listen well," I muttered venomously, snatching her elbow in a vice grip, "I've told you before to share your sermons with that boyfriend of yours. I'm not a deranged poodle like him. You should be grateful that I'm willing to tolerate his presence as a _favour_."

_So much for not hating._

She looked away, adequately embarrassed.

Before I could hurl a few more scathing remarks her way, we were interrupted by someone shouting.

"OI! Over here, Draco!"

There, striding towards us was the devil himself.

Blaise Zabini was swaggering down the busy street with a black-haired woman beside him. Once the pair had reached us, Granger embraced the other woman. She was one of the few beautiful girls from my year at Hogwarts. Patil.

"Both of you on your way to Potter's little party. We are in too."

Of course Zabini would have to open his big mouth first. He was dismissed from office, a dark mark on his otherwise okay record and here he was attending dinner dates with Potter.

"Hello Blaise," Granger the ever-polite angel greeted.

Patil was looking around nervously, chewing her lip. Maybe Blaise had _coerced,_ ahem, blackmailed her to tag along. I really did not have the fortitude to scrutinize his mind games.

Without acknowledging any of the new additions and after glaring at Granger for extra measure I strode away to the hotel.

_Loathe, dislike are all synonyms of hate._

* * *

Luna Lovegood was one of the fewer Ravenclaws that I could imagine to tolerate. She was intelligent, soft-spoken, good-looking enough for Potter and not rude at all. Potter was smiling a lot. I had never seen him smile so much. He was not the laughing type. That was Weasley.

"Thu pood ij dood gere."

All right, so maybe Weasley was the _eating-talking-laughing simultaneously_ type of guy.

Disgusting.

My expression was mirrored on Pansy's face who had been quiet all evening, except for a formal congratulations to the couple. She had kissed me on the cheek but her eyes were definitely sad. She wasn't faring much better in Weasley's paradise. The only odd man out of the people gathered was Zabini.

"Why are you here, Zabini," I mumbled to him halfway through dessert.

"To support Harry."

My jaw was slack. _Harry!_

As had been the case like many other things today, I was interrupted from questioning him further by a new addition to the table.

"Congratulations, Harry, Luna."

I looked up to see Weasley's sister standing beside the couple and smiling charmingly. A dark man was standing next to her.

Potter smiled right back at her and Lovegood actually stood up to hug her. The two seemed to engage in a quiet conversation. Granger was looking at the scene with trepidation. She had been jittery throughout the meal and was seated, _of course_, beside Weasley. The two had been cozy throughout the evening with the redhead touching her at every opportunity he could grasp onto.

_Molester._

A clatter beside my chair startled me from my dangerous thoughts. The grinning face of Blaise had vanished altogether to be replaced by a dark one. His eyes were trained on the man beside Weaslette. I hid a grin. Trust Zabini to throw a hissy fit for a Weasley.

Lovegood and the other woman let go of each other and Ginevra bade goodbye saying something along the lines of 'date', 'surprise' and so on. I was more interested in the colourful transformation of Zabini's face which was a dark scarlet by now. Weaslette did not pay him any mind and linked her fingers with Thomas. This agitated him all the more. Being the opportunist I was, I couldn't help but mumble, "Potter isn't the only hurdle, mate."

He glared at me, his eyes sharp. Then smirking dangerously, he whispered right back, "Likewise, Weasley isn't the only obstacle."

I stared at him enraged. Weasley was not an obstacle of any sort. He did not like Pansy at all which was clear from the way the two were avoiding each other and sitting farthest from each other. In a matter of six or so months, I'd be free of Granger forever and be right back with Pansy who was my soulmate, the woman best suited for me. A woman who shared no common traits with Granger.

_Free forever_, that sodding inner Zabini chanted ominously.

I downed the champagne in one go, slamming the flute down with rather too much force.

* * *

The night was warm and we were walking down the stone passageway to the Manor. I had insisted that we apparate, but Granger wanted to stroll in the moonlight.

"Who is that Parthus fellow in your conservatory?"

"A werewolf," I deadpanned, "a servant."

She bit her lip and contemplated her next question.

"Ron was angry that I had gone visiting him with you."

The ball of fury rolling within me the entire evening blasted out all at once.

"You told WEASLEY!" I roared enraged. What did I ever see in this woman to share something so personal with her? Obviously she would spill the beans to Weasley at the best chance she got.

Seeing the line of thought I was treading on, she wrapped her cloak tighter and kept walking.

"Don't scream. I didn't tell him the details. Just that you are not that bad of a person."

"And I should expect his merit certificate soon, yeah?"

She rolled her eyes. Her relaxed attitude was getting on my last nerve.

"You know what Malfoy, you should try and open up more. It will help with your inner complex."

"I do not have-"

"Oh please! I'm fed up with this attitude. You are not the devil and admitting it to yourself is _not _a bad thing. Hiding behind this-this mask will only do you so much good."

"What did I tell you about giving me advice," I managed through clenched teeth.

Then, in a gesture of something horribly abnormal, she stroked my cheek.

"Bad temper is not good for your health. Try to embrace your inner self."

I kept standing in the night chill. I did not even hear her leave. My sole concern was the place she had touched. If she planned on getting all touchy feely with me, she had another thing coming. Next time, I wouldn't allow myself to be alone with her in the dark. Maybe some of Weasley's antics had rubbed off on her. I followed in her wake. Tomorrow would be a fresh start. No more night talks with Granger.

_Free forever._

SHUT UP!


	15. Cat Fights

**Disclaimer: All characters of the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling.**

**Special thanks to all my readers and reviewers. The number of alerts and favourites indicate that the story is appreciated but you know me, always looking out for more reviews. Indulge me, won't you? Surprises abound in this chapter. Hope, I don't disappoint. As always,**

**Happy Reading!**

**Chapter-15**

**Cat Fights **

Lucius Malfoy was a strange man. His strangeness might have evolved with time into something far too dodgy to be called lunacy. But then again, he was an almost harmless creature, strolling around, without acknowledging me in the slightest. I was indeed pleased that he was far too occupied to be concerned with _hoi polloi_ like myself, but the periodic smirks he sent my way were too infuriating.

Hence, the strangeness factor.

Talking about abnormalities, I was sitting next to the Malfoy Matriach at the dinner table. Cybele, as I referred to her in my head, was perched regally right beside her son with Narcissa sitting across her. There was power play at work and the former senile female spared no efforts to ostracize me at every turn. Malfoy hardly paid his family any mind, more concerned with cleaning his plate of every morsel with as much decorum as possible. The menu was Italian.

He had a weakness for good Italian food and any food from the Malfoy kitchens was par above delectable.

_Pity it was wasted on a hag like Cybele._

Narcissa daintly sipped her wine, while raising a sharp eyebrow at the elder male Malfoy. As was typical in most marriages, the wife expressed her distaste for the mother in law through dirty looks at the husband. Lucius, being the _avant-garde_ husband, simply ignored her and continued listening to his mother's babble absently.

"I hear the Potter brat is getting married," she spoke nursing a goblet of strange medication. Apparently, she, like many other _ancient_ grandmothers, had a certain condition that made _salt_ very detrimental to her health.

I often had sweet dreams of dumping her into the Dead Sea.

"Tomorrow," I responded, offhandedly. It had become a sort of habit to irritate her at every opportunity. The fireball her face transformed into was a momentary laugh, something of a fascination. Much like a dead snake would attract attention. It was human nature to be drawn to the disgusting. The more sordid a scene was, the greater audience it would have.

Apparently, she refused to let the rest of dinner pass in silence.

"Have you been borrowing jewellery from Cissa, Mudblood?" she sneered triumphantly, knowing how much I hated that word and also at having come up with a true accusation. Nobody complained of her using the deprecating term. Not even Malfoy. He, in fact, was just concerned with eating when at the dining table.

_Some husband he is!_

"I haven't borrowed-"

"I gave it to her," Narcissa answered smoothly, while her dear husband smothered a laugh. I was always bewildered at the fun he seemed to have at the expense of his wife and mother.

"You mean to tell me," Cybele screeched in a bat-like tone, "that you willingly gave away your _goblin wrought_ gold necklace to this filthy creature? How dare you!"

"It was for a singular occasion," Narcissa replied, undeterred by the wolf mother's angry indictment.

"Of course, it was for a singular occasion. The Blacks are known to sully themselves with the underprivileged every generation."

The smile vanished from Lucius' face.

"Mother," he warned lowly.

"Seal your lips, Lucius," she attacked him instead, "I can't believe you are allowing someone like her to stay in your family home. Your father will be rolling in his grave. And, your brat, acting slipshod at every turn. He thinks marriage is a game, one meant to debase his family."

"Grandma," Malfoy was the one talking, but the glutton that he was, he didn't dare raise his eyes from the plate, "Don't get started on the importance of fending for family. You sure didn't fend for Grandpa when he was awaiting death somewhere in Sweden and I definitely don't remember seeing you anywhere in Britain during the Dark Lord's reign. So, it would be prudent if you did not insist so much on a virtue that you have just begun faking."

The look of shock on my face was mirrored on his grandmother's pale visage. It wasn't often that any of the Malfoys indulged in word wars.

"Look at your brat, Lucius,"Cybele mocked, "look at the change the mudblood has ushered in already."

Even when she said this, her eyes were brimming with unshed tears. Her patrician upbringing prevented her from dropping the mask. Silently she stood up from the chair.

"Glooster!"

A fat elf with drooping ears materialized beside her.

"You called, Mistress?"

"Arrange for tea in my private parlour. When you are free, arrange for a portkey to Milan tomorrow afternoon itself."

"Yes, Mistress."

She regally glided from the room and for someone as old as her, the straight spine was a marvel.

* * *

"You didn't have to speak to her that way."

Dinner was over about ten minutes ago and the two other elders of the household had bid a quick goodnight to their son. We were moving up the stairs silently and Malfoy had been characteristically distant throughout.

"I really hope, Granger, that you will someday realize how the universe does not revolve around you alone."

"There is no need to be rude," I retorted, keeping my expression under wraps. Giving advice to him was like blowing a trumpet to a deaf man. His arrogance and obduracy _always_ got in the way of seeing good sense.

His face was a storm cloud. Abusing his grandmother might not have been a part of his sporadic burst of chivalry as I had initially presumed. Now, as I really thought about it, he might have had an ulterior motive behind it too.

_As usual. _

"Look Granger, there are enough problems in this house without you contributing your own helping. Grandma is an honourable lady and it would do you good to treat her with respect."

I snorted, knowing how much the gesture irritated him.

"I will indeed treat her with respect the day pigs fly and since that's next to impossible, you can be well assured that nothing of the sort will happen. Ever. Don't take this personally, Malfoy, but revering people who call me derogatory names is something I'm not used to."

He turned on the landing, blocking my way.

"She is a woman of archaic ideologies. Being a smart witch, I expected you to behave accordingly. No matter what she says or acts like, she has shown only love towards me."

"Ha, _love_!" I mocked, realizing that my laugh was more scornful than I intended, "Love is not what she has been doing to your family. Love is not shipping you off to France to marry the richest bimbo in Paris. Love is not degrading another individual in the name of blood. Those capable of love cannot ever be as vindictive as your entire clan is. She has insulted my friends, family and my blood but I've never reacted the way I should have. You know the reason why?

At his hard stare, I continued, now uncaring of the outcome.

"Its because, I know the worth of love. I know how it feels to put a façade before others to prove that you are as strong inside as you bravely project to the world. I know how it feels to lose a loved one in a war over blood and above all I know how it feels to live everyday under a roof with people who care more for you dead than alive."

Sometime during my hysterical outburst, he had raised his fist and when I stopped to catch air, he slammed it into the wall. His eyes were flecks of cold steel and for the first time I was scared of him.

"You are not the only one suffering. The love you so fervidly preach about has offered nothing to you or anyone else. Love is a weakness and it is definitely _not_ giving up the man you supposedly love to another woman in the name of some bloody ancient ritual. I might not be capable of love, Granger," his voice had an ill suppressed timbre of rage, "but at least, I don't try to fool others by acting as though I am."

With that, he stormed away, drops of crimson sliding down his pale knuckles.

* * *

The next day was a disaster. The _dearest_ grandmother was particularly more lethal with her tongue and since she was leaving in the afternoon, I let her "Mudblood" antagonism slide. It did not have anything to do with Malfoy's drama last night; merely my last attempt to maintain some peace on a good day. After a swift breakfast, I made my way to the floo, intent on moving out of the damn mansion as quickly as possible. Though a working day, I had taken two days leave for Harry's wedding.

"Going somewhere?"

I hadn't seen Malfoy all morning and the stealth with which he managed to materialize out of dark corners was perplexing.

"Yes," I answered simply, reaching for the floo powder.

"Is this attire fit for your Hero Harry's wedding?"

I turned around to stare at him. The only other time, I had seen him dressed as regally as now was on his own wedding day.

"You are coming?" I asked stupidly, trying to contain my wonder at the change in his attitude.

Where was the angry blond from last night? Shouldn't he have refused to come along as payback for our fight last night? I had already invented excuses for his absence at the marriage and here he was, back to the usual neutral poise as always.

"Of course, I'm coming. Potter invited me personally yesterday. He _begged_ me to show up on the occasion, rather. You know how Potter is, always _hungry_ for publicity. My presence would throw the function into a glamorous light and who am I to put a constraint on the groom's wishes."

I struggled between bemusement and anger. Trust him to degrade everyone within a ten mile radius. Rolling my eyes at his rather pathetic attempt at cover-up for yesterday's quarrel, I conceded. Through the floo, we squeezed to the location printed on the mauve wedding card.

"Surrey?" my husband enquired, once we landed in a meadow, surrounded by a blooming vine fence.

_Magic_

"How did you know?" I asked, dusting the soot off the gown I had chosen for today. Well, periwinkle blue was one of my favorite colours in dress robes and this one was well suited for my skin tone.

"The Lapsing Floo network is an advent of the government in Surrey alone, Harry Potter's homeland. Been out of the usual booklover ways, Granger?"

"Remember the last time you challenged me, Malfoy?"

That shut him up sufficiently. Lapsing floo was a one-ended floo network with no fireplace at the destination. The project was in the experimental stages and the preliminary choice of location was Surrey.

The meadow was a vast expanse of greenery, with ample trees at the edges. The horizon was beautiful, well-lit by the morning sun. The grass was glistening like shards of crystal sprinkled at random and the mini rainbows from each dew drop were fascinating to say the least.

"We are early," Malfoy surmised, "Even the groom hasn't arrived yet."

I rolled my eyes. I wondered why Harry compelled him to attend the ceremony. With the two of them being civil adversaries now, Malfoy's association with me could be the sole reason. However, I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. If not anything else, his presence would evade more than a few uncomfortable questions.

"Follow my lead, Malfoy," I muttered, extracting the wedding card from the purse.

He looked down over my shoulder, curious.

"Your hair smells," he snorted into my shoulder.

"Yeah, I know and your whole self stinks, so what's new? Now, take out your wand and tap the card."

"It was a compliment Granger, it smells good. But now that you've gone and ruined my sweet words, I'll have to give you another one. This dress is pathetic."

"Stop acting like an immature cad and tap the damn card already," I gritted, loosing the last ounce of patience.

He smirked infuriatingly and just to irritate my fraying nerves further, began whistling some ruddy tune. Then, after an elaborate yawn, he extended his wand and before I knew what had happened, we were standing in an enormous cathedral.

The ceiling was so high, I was certain that the clouds would float tangible to the dome. The upholstery on the wall was a dark gold and navy blue satin covered the tables. The crowd was seated at the chairs provided and I recognized some of Fleur Delacour's friends from Beauxbaton.

"Where the hell is this?" Malfoy began loudly, only to be interrupted by an extremely fat man striding purposefully towards us.

He had circular features; like an overgrown baby's and I was for a moment sure that he was someway related to Slughorn.

"Hermione, I presume?" he addressed me, completely ignoring Malfoy.

Being the spoilt princess he was, Malfoy did not submit to this ignorance.

"Is this another one of your male friends, Granger?" he asked, a faint note of irritation evident in his lazy drawl.

"No, I-"

"And you are her husband, uh, Malfiy, yeah?"

I had to bite my cheek hard to contain the giggle that was ready to escape. I looked at Malfoy only to cover up the sudden stint of laughter as an instantaneous cough. He sneered at the man and pointedly glared at me.

"Its _**Malfoy**_, Draco Malfoy," he spat.

The fat man was unconcerned with the bulging vein on his forehead. Rather, waved his hands in a sweeping gesture of reception.

"Welcome," he boomed in a rehearsed monotone, "I'm Harry's cousin, Dudley Dursley."

My eyebrows momentarily vanished into my hairline. This was Dudley? Dudley Dursley? And he was actually greeting guests at Harry Potter's wedding? Greeting wizards and witches, he had always regarded weird and freaky?

_Woah!_

Malfoy, however missed the part about cousin and concentrated only on the other man's name.

"_Dudley_? Who the hell names their kid _Dudley_?" he asked, a milder version of the childhood bully in him making an appearance.

Before, I could discreetly stamp on his foot, Dudley responded, unfazed by his rudeness.

"My parents, the Dursleys, of course."

Not used to being back answered at the first meeting itself, Malfoy crossed his arms in a threatening pose. Dudley followed suit.

"Let me guess, you are _muggle_?" he snorted, as though having made a legitimate point.

"And I presume you are _magical_? Hardly makes a difference to me. You are a walking stick, remarkably malnourished. At least, I'm healthier."

He bunched his biceps exaggeratedly, mocking Malfoy.

"It's called flab, idiot," he informed Dudley in a mock-informatory tone.

"And it's called manners, Einstein! Stop the _Godfather Don_ act and get moving already. I have guests to greet."

The visible surprise on Malfoy's face was one of the better highlights of the morning. It was refreshing to see him being brought down a peg or two by someone like Dudley- some _muggle_ as he so derogatorily insinuated earlier.

Apparently, Malfoy had met his muggle reincarnate.

_Take that,_ I cheered internally.

* * *

The wedding was a mild affair by Harry's standards. The pastor for the ceremony was unsurprisingly, Valdman. Besides former housemates, co-workers and professors from Hogwarts, Luna's father's colleagues from the Quibbler were present too. The entire ceremony was taxing with Malfoy abusing everything around incessantly. He seemed to have found a potential prey in Dudley and spared no efforts to badmouth him at every turn, occasionally dragging Ron into the mix.

"Will you be quiet, Malfoy? Your nasal diatribe is getting old, give it a rest."

"How dare that fatso mock me? Did he say he was Potter's relative? No wonder Chosen Boy has rotten genes," he whispered lowly.

"Silence," an elder woman standing behind us warned. The peacock feather on her hand was drooping slightly and she was having problems adjusting it properly. Maybe the woman was a relative of Luna's, not that I was certain.

"Shut it, you old bat and get your feathery head away from us," Malfoy retorted, standing tall and glaring at the witch.

She was visibly taken aback by his rudeness and looked away muttering something about 'insolent kids'.

We were seated in the second row, with Dumbledore, the Weasleys and Luna's family sitting in front. Ron was the Best Man. Dressed in an elegant black suit and hair combed neatly, he looked very handsome. Every now and then he'd catch my eye and wink. For once, he was the less anxious one of the two.

Harry looked very impressive as did Luna in her peach dress, sewn with real yellow roses enchanted to stay blooming. Ginny was sitting beside Charlie and smiling faintly. I knew Harry's marriage was difficult for her to accept but she had long outgrown the stage of sad, unrequited lover. Everyone was smiling, all except Malfoy. The _Prophet_ had sent in a reporter to cover the wedding. Harry's distaste for the _Witch_ _Weekly_ served in favour of the newspaper as only one of the two could cover the proceedings.

The food was delicious and soon after, the dancing session progressed. Malfoy's bad mood had markedly disappeared on seeing Parkinson, who was a vision to behold. Dressed in a simple halter style maroon gown, she was almost as beautiful as Luna on her wedding day. The two were seated near the champagne counter whispering lowly and laughing together from time to time. They were a well-matched pair, meant to be. Magic may be foolproof but the Urn of Confraternity was fraught with less than accurate deductions.

_You always have Ronald._

Do I?

We had shared a dance together, soon after Pansy had dragged Malfoy away. But unlike the one we shared at our wedding, this dance was rigid with tension. Ron had been a perfect gentleman, greeting me and taking the lead. His ballroom expertise had improved remarkably and I vaguely wondered how he had become so proficient and graceful. He was no Malfoy but the skill was growing. Throughout the dance, he had maintained an unbiased conversation, discussing Harry's wedding, enquiring about my well-being, abusing Malfoy a little and cracking lame jokes as was usual. He did not mention Pansy even once and I was silently pleased that even six months with a beautiful witch like her had no rendered his love to fade. That was my Ronald.

Once the refreshments were served and the dancers slouched over the chairs, Malfoy threw himself beside me. Ron had gone away a few minutes before to greet a few of his team mates and also to prepare the honeymoon surprise we had discussed on the night of the engagement party.

"Want to dance, Granger?" he asked, not looking at me.

"No," I replied, already tired.

"That's good," he turned to face me, "because Pansy's worn me out. I had forgotten how much she loved to dance. If we were to dance for appearances sake, I'd be dead on my feet."

"You don't need to put up appearances, Malfoy," I said, irritated by his less than dignified response.

Pansy was an ace dancer? Well, so what? I was an excellent researcher but never flaunted that around. Moreover, moving around shaking your body was no skill. Even tribes could dance.

"Seen the fatty around? I'm itching for a good fight."

I rolled my eyes at his childhood antics.

"Have you greeted Harry yet?" I asked, already knowing his answer but subtly changing the subject.

"Of course not. Why would I ever do that? I don't remember Potter shaking hands with me on my wedding," he responded rhetorically, shrinking his nose in distaste.

I stood up, dusting lint from the dress.

"Come along."

"Where?"

"We are going to wish the married couple."

"Why?"

This man was born to exhaust me of resilience. Callously, I pulled him up by the sleeve of his green robe.

"Get up," I demanded, as he sat there unmoving.

After a wordless fight, since the Prophet reporter was lurking nearby, he grudgingly stood up, snatching away the sleeve I was holding onto.

"Don't touch me ever again, Granger. Let this be the final warning," he sneered.

I did not bother to engage in another habitual sparring. We walked silently to the couple who were greeting guests. I had already wished the two a happy married life and was expectant that Malfoy would do the same now. He did not disappoint.

"Join the club, Potter. You too Loony," he drawled.

"Its Luna, Draco," Luna corrected patiently.

Malfoy nodded, a sardonic smile on his lips. He never planned to call her that.

"Have you seen Blaise, Malfoy?" Harry asked, shaking hands with the blond and waving at some guest behind his shoulder.

"Ah, couldn't make it. You know between work and avoiding the Weaslette, he preferred to stay back," Malfoy answered smoothly.

"I see."

Harry's face was pensive.

After exchanging a few more boring small talk topics, we bid the couple goodbye. I did not want to return early and suffer Cybele's wrath or worse, Lucius' indifferent stare. However, Malfoy was adamant and apparated away, making up some lame excuse about pending work. I knew only too well that his eagerness to depart was solely because the function was so outside his realm.

"Try to be home before dinner. Mother was insistent," he casually tossed over his shoulder before disappearing away.

One word from his informal adieu stuck.

_Home_

Was that what Malfoy Manor had become now? The same cold walls that threatened me not a long time ago? The old fading tapestries that clouded my nightmares had become a familiarity. The shy elf, Rumy, tending to my limp, her eyes shimmering with concern; the chrysanthemum garden on the terrace; the lilac sheets in my bedroom; the worn oak of the table in the grand library and the sweet smell of freshly mown grass in the mornings. They had all somehow entwined themselves with my life. The thought of leaving them all behind was, well, bittersweet.

* * *

"_I hear that you don't fly," Narcissa asked as she strolled along beside me. _

_For the past week, the matriarch of the house had taken it upon herself to accompany me during the exercise walks in the evening. She did not talk much, but the little she did was always an easy distraction from the tedious work out._

"_Um," I began, trying to best conceal my embarrassment, "I haven't tried flying and the attempts in first year were pretty dismal." _

_She chuckled at my unease, not in a bad way though._

"_Oh Draco always relished sharing your inadequacies on his every visit home. There weren't many to start with. However, as you know, my boy is the King of Exaggeration. A witch should always know how to fly. Not that I'm the expert but a Malfoy should be privy to all forms of magic. Even sport," she nodded her head along meaningfully._

"_But this marriage-"_

"_Ah, technicalities," she interrupted hastily, "But learning something new wouldn't be a bad thing."_

"_Oh, Narcissa, I really don't think I'm the flying type. Too scared of heights, you see."_

"_Doesn't Gryffindor define courage?"_

"_Technicalities," I smiled at her._

"_Well, consider yourself a pupil from now on. You've not been to the stables, I presume?"_

"_Actually, Malfoy gave me a tour on the first day-"_

"_And, I can very well guess how much of a lousy one that might have been. Come along."_

_She made her way down south to a large cabin that had remained closed ever since my first visit. It was more like a warehouse with rusted iron bars crossed together ominously._

"_Um, are there horses inside?"_

_My mother-in-law smirked and the twist of her lips was an exact replica of the expression that my beloved husband so dearly adorned._

"_There aren't horses in here, Hermione," she stated bluntly, though her eyes shone with excitement, "My son's patronus is a shark."_

_At my startled look, she simply shrugged._

"_I know that you visited the conservatory on his birthday. Anyway, the creatures in here are close cousins of my patronus. Our family has always had expensive hobbies. The Blacks more so than the Malfoys."_

_She traced a manicured finger nail on the joint of the bars._

_As the doors swung open, the earthy scent of musk greeted our senses. The dark stable was flooded with light as Narcissa stepped inside and I was greeted by the sight of some of the most enchanting creatures._

"_Pegasuses?"_

"_Ah, Tulpars, actually. They resemble the Pegasus in more ways than one but breeding the latter is a punishable offence today. Only a small herd remains and are looked after by the Ministry. They are endangered. These fascinating beasts though," she swept her hands at the magnificent horses, "are much easier to tame, ride and fly. We began with a small herd of six and now we have about twenty of them alive."_

_I couldn't even blink. The Tulpars were some of the most powerful magical creatures in the world. Originally from Ankara, they were a rare sight in Europe. Just like unicorns, they were hunted for the golden hoof that had medicinal properties and sadly with dark magic could be rendered fatal. I had a hazy inference of Lucius' interest in them._

"_A bigger surprise awaits you at the left end," Narcissa encouraged, smiling like a school girl._

_Taking her cue, I walked to the left with trepidation. She might be benevolent now but she did give birth to Draco Malfoy. So, I had to be careful with my trust._

_An iron door led to the shed at the left and on opening it, my mouth remained unhinged for a good three minutes._

"_Surprised?" she asked gleefully. Apparently, she had waited a long time to reap such a reaction from someone with her backyard secret._

"_Isn't the Sleipnir a myth?"_

"_Is it?" she mocked, her superior attitude shining through. Her comments may ooze with landed gentry but her eyes were sincere enough._

_The eight-legged winged stallion before me neighed and the brush of sweet musk intoxicated my senses._

"_Ah, I hope the visit has charmed you enough and served as an eye-opener. Now, to start our first lesson, select a Tulpar."_

That was one of the sweeter moments of my long six month stay at the Manor. After the initial reluctance, I had given in to Narcissa's demands that I learn to fly. We hadn't progressed to flying yet, but she had taught me enough about riding Tulpars without falling off them. That feat alone had taken six days. It was times like these that I looked at Hagrid in a new light.

"Dreaming, are we?"

Startled out of my thoughts, I turned around to greet the person who had so rudely interrupted my contemplation. Her maroon dress was a killer up close and the shine of the ebony hair was distracting.

"Hello, Pansy," I acknowledged coldly.

Here was the woman who had stolen Ronald away from me, the witch who had managed to ensnare Malfoy for a whole year and the latter bothered me more than the former.

"Parkinson should suffice. I prefer calling you Granger. So reciprocating similar sentiments is comfortable in conversation."

"Sure," _Your_ _Highness!_

"Have you seen Draco? He seems to have made away once again," she seated herself elegantly on the chair across me and began sipping from the flute in her hand. Her every action spelt style. It made me feel uncouth.

"I'm not Malfoy's keeper. We are hardly on speaking terms."

It was a poor attempt but Ron's lack of response had reduced me to take desperate measures. I needed to know how she felt about the whole marriage setup. I wouldn't get an opportunity of this sort and being the insecure female that I was, I jumped at the first chance possible.

"Of course, you aren't. Draco has standards," she flipped a finger at herself.

Parkinson did not continue and I my fickle attempt at interrogation dissipated even before commencement.

_What Auror skills, dearie! Fabulous._

"Why are you sitting with me, Parkinson?"

"Well, I wish to leave this sty as swiftly as possibly but since that oaf of a husband of mine is missing, I'd rather kill the time with you. He's bound to come sniffing around here and I plan to catch him on first sight."

"Don't talk about Ron that way," I growled, clutching the table cloth with too much force.

"Ah, still salivating after the weasel, I see," she crooned, "How, ah, romantic. Have wet dreams about him too, Granger?"

"Shut your trap."

"Relax, Granger, chill. I don't care a wilt about that beggar. He's all yours. Filth belongs with filth, you know."

Before I could raise my hand and smack that sneer off her pretty face, we were interrupted by someone.

"Pansy."

She stood up and stared up at Ron with venom.

"Ah, _Ronald_, how kind of you to return so soon. If you are done being gallant and decorating Potter's toilet, we can leave."

He did not answer, merely stared down at her. She rolled her eyes at his inaction.

"Aren't you the bright one? I want to leave _now_ and I don't care how much longer you have to stall to take care of your friends but I plan to leave now."

He looked at me through hooded eyes. I was silently fuming at Pansy's insulting tirade. If Ron's tense jaw was any indication, the witch was in for some huge trouble. I wished to warn her of the potentially hazardous situation her attitude could push her into but her comments from before stopped me. A small part of myself, which I refused to acknowledge, was curious to see Ron's reaction to her disparaging remarks.

"Oh, wish to share a private goodbye with the Mudblood, do you? Don't mind me, go ahead. I'll just turn away so that the sight doesn't scar me forever. Wouldn't want me to puke all over y-"

My eyes were wide as saucers and my palms found their way to my gaping mouth. The resounding slap echoed about my mind.

Pansy's face was turned away and angry tears were making their way down her reddening cheeks.

"Shut up, you nasty bitch," he snarled, his own face an ugly shade of puce, "I've told you time and again to not insult my friends or family. I've said it a hundred times over. But as the saying goes, action speaks louder than words."

She dropped the stylish purse she had been holding onto and looked at him with red eyes. Then, much like on the day of the wand ceremony, she tossed herself at him, clawing savagely at his new robes.

"I _hate_ you," she screamed, attracting the attention of the few remaining guests, "_I HATE YOU, YOU BLOODY PIECE OF VERMIN!_"

She glared at me, her eyes spitting poison. Then, in a flare of maroon, she apparated away.

"Ron-" I began in a short whisper.

"Shut up, Hermione. The bitch had it coming to her."

The Ronald Weasley I remembered would never slap a woman. What had gone wrong? How had this beautiful day transformed into such a disastrous one? And never had I heard Ron ask me to shut up. This new found rudeness was proof that living in close quarters with Pansy was taking a toll on him. Being the immature male that he was, he let off steam through the only outlet he was familiar with- anger.

Before I could talk some sense into him, he turned away and followed his wife's lead. I sent a silent prayer to all holy powers that things would improve within the next six months.

A flash of blond hair and grey eyes crossed my mind.

_Wishful thinking, Hermione! Wishful thinking._


	16. Halloween Horrors

**Disclaimer: All identifiable characters of the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling.**

**Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. The response has compelled me to post this chapter much earlier than planned before. I hope the length does not intimidate you. Please keep reading and above all, reviewing. Tell me if it is good, bad, funny, depressing, boring or plain crap. All comments are welcome.**

**A surprise awaits you in the end and the next chapter will have a MAJOR twist. More reviews will prompt me to work faster. As always, love you all and without further ado,**

**Happy Reading.**

**Chapter-16**

**Halloween Horrors**

The Leaky Cauldron was sparsely crowded for a Saturday. A solemn mood prevailed with only an old woman seated beside a young man at the far table. Tom was busy wiping glasses but as always the lack of cleanliness in the room had me uneasy. We had half-day on Saturday. Malfoy had a tight schedule with a game of Quidditch planned with his mates. Not that I was one to complain, but it often felt useless to waste valuable time on some dangerous sport. Men were just so weird that way.

Harry had long returned from his honeymoon and it had almost been a month since his wedding. Of the three friends, he was the only one in a happy married life, with the rest of us in had secretly disclosed how the hand indicating Ron in their clock at home pointed always to mortal peril. Living with Pansy might be a bother for a man of limited tolerance like Ron, but the woman was no tigress for him to remain in a state of danger.

The door opened, letting in the cackle of children and hurried footsteps of adults. Another Halloween was here and not one of the better ones.

Ronald Weasley dropped himself into the chair opposite me. The crease in my forehead might have given away my mood, for he rolled his eyes, flexed his shoulders and hailed Tom over.

"What will you have Mr. Weasley?"

"Two mutton sandwiches and lamb chops should suffice. Get me a big pail of water. The Halloween fever is getting to me," he chuckled lightly, though the strain was evident.

"And what will you be having, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Ron fisted his hand on the table at the name.

"Thanks Tom, but I've had lunch already."

The barkeeper nodded once and moved away leaving the two of us alone. Ron had been busy with training for the last month. I had planned this meeting a long time ago, but his absence from the continent forced us to postpone it this far. In the weeks following the 'Slap' at the wedding, Parkinson had made regular house calls to Malfoy Manor. She had verbally abused all the Weasleys, calling them uncivilized barbarians who raised abusive children. Through her blasé depluming, Lucius had triumphantly sneered as though silently challenging me to defend my previous fiancé. Narcissa had been horrified and it pained me to see her disappointed stare my way.

However, Pansy was hardly satisfied by these less than passable reactions. The icing had been Malfoy's outburst on hearing the news. He hardly let her complete her list of grievances, simply flooed the Ministry and registered a case against Ron, going so far as compelling Pansy to give in a written complaint. They had almost made it to the Marital Counseling Cell when unexpectedly, Parkinson had rebuffed. Malfoy had been ferocious to deal with then. He threw a fit but Pansy had faintly claimed that a case would draw unwanted attention to herself and ruin her career. She had painfully consoled the angry blond that a little _flea_ like Weasley could be easily handled. Malfoy was hardly calmed.

He had contacted the team manager of the Canons and using his _influence_, requested a favour to let him visit their Keeper. The brief meeting between him and Ron that followed, was a mystery.

The man before me now, gorging on the delicious lamb chops, was oblivious to the drama behind the scenes before the impetuous showdown with his wife's future spouse.

"Ronald," I whispered harshly, "I did not invite you here to treat you to lunch."

"I gathered as much," he mumbled between mouthfuls.

Some things were endearingly unvarying but I couldn't let my mind stray far from the topic at hand.

"Look Ron, slapping Parkinson was the wrong thing to do."

"Yeah, you are right. Her crying voice is horrible."

"Be serious Ronald!"

"I'm being that, Hermione. The fact that she is still alive is bloody proof of my patience. That woman has had it coming to her for months now. Blimey! I should get a medal for enduring that creature for this long," he complained loudly.

"She can't be worse than Malfoy. I've learned to ignore him, why can't you do the same with her?" I extended a trembling hand to his closed fist, wishing to take away a little of his frustration.

"It's just a few more months, Ron," I implored longingly, searching for his eyes.

"I- I just can't Hermione, she will drive me mad. You know, I've stopped taking her to family dinners. There is not a single person left to be degraded by her. Mum insists that I bring her along, but how can I ever do that? She called Mum a _red-haired bitch in heat_. How am I supposed to stand for her holier-than-thou attitude?

"She is worse than Malfoy. He only has a problem with money and blood. She has a problem with bloody everything. The way I eat, the way I sleep, the way I walk, the clothes I wear- everything is a no-no in her book. I'm fed up. Insulting you was the last straw. She'd be careful with her words in the future."

"Ron," I pleaded with glazed eyes.

"I give up, Hermione. Sod the damn ceremony. Leave Malfoy so that we can be together again."

"Please don't be that way Ron. Remember you are more of a man than this. She is equally aggravated. Try for a little more fortitude. We'll get through this, you promised me."

I kept the details about Malfoy's reaction to myself. He needn't know that. With Ron's short temper, he was bound to go knocking to Malfoy Manor to set the ferret straight. The precious five months were a long wait.

* * *

Of all the reading rooms in the Manor, the one in the south wing was my favourite. I wouldn't dare speak this fact aloud, for fear of further expansion of Malfoy's inflated ego. The window was a huge glass wall, extending from floor to ceiling, enchanted curtains, shifting to-fro as per the need of the inhabitants of the room. The entire house was built on raw magic, more so than the Burrow. The magic was inherent within the walls, closely linked with blood.

_Potions_ _Panorama_ was one of the magazines subscribed by the Malfoys. Thankfully, it had been long discarded by Lucius, who had a proclivity for weeklies and newspapers. It was a strange sort of obsession. Like a little boy, he'd dive in for the boring magazines and the _Prophet_ which he read twice daily, back to back.

His appetite for reading was voracious, more so than mine. At times, he would stay cooped up in this very same room, going through files and papers while simultaneously perusing the latest book on the market.

He was a master at multitasking.

Often, I could easily spot the similarities between father and son with absurd precision. Malfoy had more of his mother in him than Lucius, but the few traits he had inherited from daddy dearest were astoundingly in synch.

Immersed deep in a new potion recently invented yet _again_ by Severus Snape, I hardly noticed Rumy creeping in and setting down a tray on the table. A faint odour of citrus invaded my senses that I had long come to associate with Malfoy. A few seconds later, the man himself sat down on the chair across me, sighing tiredly.

I looked up from the scowling photograph of Snape to catch a similar look on my husband's face. His hair was still wet from the shower and the loose black pajamas emphasized the pale throat and bobbing Adam's apple.

_Focus, Hermione!_

"Do I need to know the reason for your anger?"

He didn't answer but continued leafing through the _Evening_ _Prophet_ which was two weeks old; not that he'd have noticed had it been years older. With the reddening of his fingertips, I was certain that he wouldn't settle for a quiet night.

"Did you see Weasley today?"

"Which one?"

His aggravated stare became an ugly glower.

"The lover."

"You are so crude, Malfoy and yes, I had lunch with Ron."

His posture stilled, in a pale imitation of some derogatory wax statue.

"What have I told you about being chummy with your boyfriend?"

"Care to remind me," I yawned, totally discarding the magazine on the table and picking up the plate of cookies. Hmm, freshly baked.

"Adrian saw the two of you at the Cauldron and he spared no efforts to explain the clandestine reunion in detail. I will not have you degrading me in public, _especially_ before my friends."

His attitude had worsened considerably over the last month following the 'Slap'. The mere mention of Ron's name drove him into the glacial moods he was infamous for. However, no matter how much he tried vehemently to impose his dogmatic demands on myself, it would all be in vain.

"One thing that you need to get drilled into that thick skull of yours is that," I chewed the cookies, swallowing them slowly, watching him take a generous sip of tea, "Ronald is first and foremost, my best friend. Your hissy fits are getting old and you should stop acting like a jealous husband already. If the past times haven't been clue enough, I'll outright admit that I'm not your slave to treat as you wish. I make my own decisions."

"Be what that may, Granger," he remarked, stretching lazily on the couch, "but try for more discretion in the future. We wouldn't want the public to know of your cheating ways and kindly step down your high horse. You aren't competent enough to invoke feelings of jealousy in a man like me."

I did not deem it necessary to continue conversing with him on a topic that was sure to turn sour. After an hour of silence, Malfoy got up and walked out without a word. A glance at the hourglass on the mantle showed that the time was past eleven. It was time to retire to bed. I carefully deposited the Potions weekly on the table, lest Lucius find it out of place. As I rose from the chair, I was interrupted by someone else stepping in.

My father-in-law was on one of his nightly excursions.

The balcony was an added feature of this room alone and perhaps one of the many reasons for its appeal. Lucius moved stealthily towards the railing, ignoring my presence. Well, that wasn't unexpected. However, he cleared his throat rather loudly when I had almost stepped out of the room.

"Miss Granger, can I have a moment?"

He never bothered to talk to me, choosing to act the part of silent bystander quite well. If he chose to break his muteness now, maybe the matter was of some significance. I made my way to the balcony, leaning against the balustrade, imitating his stance.

"I hope you aren't in a hurry to sleep. I prefer to have this conversation away from prying ears, save the owls of course," he chuckled mildly at the little joke.

My silence was answer enough, for he continued in a grave tone, his eyes distant.

"Draco was conceived three years after our marriage, the end result of two miscarriages by Narcissa."

I masked my gasp, thanks to the sound of crickets in the garden.

"Cissa always wanted a girl and I wished for a son myself. The first Malfoys are always male, you see. The two before Draco were both girls. Nevertheless, Cissa was happy to have our son. He is the only one she loves in the world; I have caused her too much grief to be eligible for such devotion.

"Well, the years passed and Draco grew up to be the son I wished and the child she loved. We have indulged his every demand, smothering him with wealth. He is unaware of the pain of those who are bereft. I'm too. It's his birthright to have all that he dreams of. In a way we have spoilt him. However," here the calm demeanour vanished, to be replaced by a fox-like grin, threatening in quality, "If you cause him distress in any form Miss Granger, I shall not hesitate to get back to my old ways. It would do you good to realize that this marriage is a farce, meant to dissipate in the near future. You should steer clear of anything that causes my son pain."

I would have certainly appreciated his efforts at the paternal act had I been uninformed of his dark past.

"Mr. Malfoy," I began, "It seems incredulous that you'd try your conniving techniques with an Auror like me, one who has faced horrors like Voldemort, pardon, the '_Dark Lord_'. Your claims before are groundless as you've just stood back in the past and let your family suffer. Not that I would ever guilt you; with a mother like Cybele Malfoy, one can only expect so much from the son.

"Your family history is of no interest, nor is your son's well-being. And believe me, I would be the last person to stick around after the stipulated time period for any of the many offerings you present. That progeny might be the ultimate cherub for you, but I've endured too much to waste my time with him."

"Confidence is a quality I have always admired in a woman," his eyes crinkled dangerously at the corners, "as is impulsiveness, but too much of a good thing can prove fatal."

"Your pearls of wisdom are shining as ever. Try conveying the same to your son and convincing him. I shall heed your advice then. But rest assured, _I_ cannot wait for this marriage to come to an end just like your dear son."

"You, Miss Granger though clever, are scrupulously ignorant. Just keep in mind, the pearls I've shone. We should be affable if you keep your end of the bargain. Pleasant dreams," he turned regally, the shadow of that familiar smirk lifting his lips.

I stared at his back in the dark, wondering why the man thought his son a delicate darling to be hurt by my words or actions.

* * *

Galas, parties, balls, you name it, the Malfoys were connoisseurs when it came to celebration. The plaza set up in the gardens for an evening of festivities boasted of wealth and grandeur. It had been in the works for two weeks now and the end result was mesmerizing. The enchanted pumpkins floating, the ominous wind swirling around the building and garden, adding effect to the forbidding atmosphere, were all rather impressive. Apparently, the ball was an annual episode at Malfoy Manor. The only fact fueling my agitation was the theme.

Masquerade was eerie business. More so than Halloween.

The last masquerade I could remember was at the Ministry a good two years before, when Ron had dressed up as a goblin on Ginny's insistence, something about spotting him easily even with the mask. Well, that incident had not gone down well, when I had actually pulled aside a goblin from Gringotts and tried snogging him. Angry goblins were dangerous.

No goblins were in attendance today and I was guiltily grateful for that. I had chosen a neutral thyme green gown, preferring to stay a witch for the night. Right beside me, Narcissa sat drinking sherry. She was busy in conversation with Juventas. Both women were engrossed in a debate about the difference between turquoise and azure sapphires. Juventas had purchased a set of earrings the previous week from Pretoria which had sparked the discussion.

Leaving them alone after Narcissa insisted the fourth time that I join their chat, I made my way to the fountain, spurting champagne, at the centre of the room. Glancing around the room at large, I was mystified by the effect magic could have. So lost was I in appreciating the decorations, that the conversation unfolding before me remained unnoticed for a while.

A tall man with blond hair stood with his back before me, black cape and raised collar flapping in the wind. His angry voice was muffled by the chuckle of the person he was ranting to.

"She did not invite Pansy because Weasley was highly likely to tag along. Sorry that your seductive outfit would have to go waste. No admirers so far; how piteous."

"Zabini," Malfoy growled, "you are dressed up as some sort of psycho with that ring on your head. At least my apparel is _not_ misleading."

"It's called an_ angel_, dearest. My inner seraph coming to play. But, Draco, I appreciate that for once in your life, you've seemed to select the appropriate costume for yourself. Blood sucking vampire is indeed a becoming look. Now you just have to stop wallowing-"

"Yeah, yeah," my husband replied, "you can end the yammering now. I still can't believe she didn't invite Pansy."

He turned around to come face to face with me. I didn't know which of the two of us was more surprised.

"My, Hermione, even a simpleton look brings out the masked beauty. And you have satisfactorily stunned Draco _honey_. My compliments. Green is definitely your colour and I love the hair too."

"Aren't you supposed to be searching for someone, Zabini?" the blond man ground out, oblivious to my stare.

"Ah, now that you remind me, I was looking for the most beautiful witch in the room and _voila_, she is right here," he bowed pompously, snatching my hand up for a quick kiss, "Pleasure, _sweetheart_."

He fluttered his eyelashes. The silk white toga and the sparkling ring of light on the head reemphasized his good looks.

"Hello, Blaise," I whispered, blushing, unused to such praise.

"If you are quite done cajoling this _sweetheart_, I'm pretty convinced that bigger fish await your attentions elsewhere," Malfoy drawled, his eyes sharp in their pointed stare.

"Looking for some action with the missus? All you had to do was ask _nicely_," his tone was snide with an undertone of amusement.

Malfoy turned towards his best friend and grinned, displaying fangs. I couldn't stop the gasp.

"Woah, you've got some teeth, mate," Blaise put a hand around his friend's shoulders.

"And I shall put them to good use," the grey of his eyes twinkled behind the white mask.

Blaise chuckled, raising his hands in surrender.

"Always the charmer. Never threaten the angels of heaven though, vampy. They might curse you to become like one of them. Reformed vampires are not cool," he whistled a tune calmly, turning away from us with a salute my way. He walked through the throng of people, a swagger in his stride, and bumped into someone dressed as a nymph. The two began talking and soon vanished from sight.

The silence that followed was similar to the one at our wedding. Malfoy's face, half-covered by the white mask, was expressionless as he intently watched the champagne fountain.

"I'm sorry that Pansy couldn't make it," I murmured trying to ease the tension.

He snorted, "Eavesdropping is not apposite for principled Gryffindors. And sweet words aren't your forte."

He shifted his sleeve, draping the cloak over a leather clad knee.

"Father talked to you."

It was a statement rather than a question.

"He did," I chuckled silently at the scowl on his face.

"What did he say, Granger?"

"That's for me to know and you not to," I replied, trying to keep my amusement at bay. Malfoy dressed up as a vampire was

enough cause for bewilderment.

A dark look passed his face and the fangs he had exhibited earlier made a reappearance.

"Aren't you scared, Granger?"

"Of you? _Hardly_."

He frowned like a little boy denied a treat.

"This hospitality between us is frightening. I crave for the good old days."

I tensed.

"Sorry to disappoint you but I experienced no good in the old days."

"Touché," he smirked, helping himself to a goblet of the golden beverage, "Not going to drink on Halloween?"

Over the past month, his attitude had deteriorated to lower levels and so had his attempts at humour. The acerbic wit had lost its charm and with time transformed into snide rudeness. When his question remained unanswered, he shrugged and chugged down the entire glass of champagne.

"Hmm," he hummed, the alcohol dimming his reticence, "So, six months more. Half way down, what do you think of your husband? Good thoughts, I hope?"

"Why the sudden interrogation?"

"Just curious," he replied with a wry smile, "Envisioning Pansy in her wedding dress at night can be painful knowing that the true vision is half a year away. Been dreaming of Pauper Charming?"

I shook my head at his childish comments.

"Grow up, Malfoy," I countered, already bored by his loose talk.

"Hah, so what did my father converse with you about?"

"You don't give up, do you?"

"Malfoys are winners, _sweetheart_," he taunted gently, tonguing the newly developed canines in his mouth.

I sighed tiredly, looking around for more entertainment. The party was in full swing with strangely dressed masked guests socializing amicably. The faces hidden under fancy coverings though colourful in appearance had an ominous feel. One man in particular stood out from the crowd, sans fancy clothes or mask. If the distressed scowl on his face wasn't indication enough, the curtain of greasy hair gave him away.

"Snape's here?"

"He's my godfather and Mother's best friend," he carefully balanced the glass flute on his knee while changing the colour of those horrible fangs.

"I thought he might be congenial with your father. The both of them being Voldemort's lapdogs," I said in a tone meant to convey disgust for the actions he was engaged in.

"Leave the insulting to the Slytherins, and no, my father was never on good terms with Severus. They are bipolar, the both of them. They merely tolerate each other to placate Mother."

"Aren't you lot one big family, loving and caring?" I discretely adjusted the strap of my robes. They were Ginny's selection but the strap was faulty, sliding down my left shoulder periodically. I swiftly performed a sticking charm, lest my husband take note of the shoddy appearance.

_Too late_

"Is this dress borrowed as well?" he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"No, it's a few years old," I replied planning to maintain as much dignity as possible.

"Ha," he crowed, delighted at having found yet another excuse for belittlement. The things that excited him were just so banal, "Now, I understand why Weasley is the one 'True Love' for you. Made for each other you are."

"Just like you and Parkinson, you mean?"

He did not answer immediately, choosing to stare at the strangers strolling around. I had learnt long ago, mere weeks into the marriage, that Malfoy disliked discussing his relationship with Pansy. Maybe it was his insistence to keep his private life away from me. The man was a mystery, one I was not ready to unravel. With his constant mood swings, he'd make a pregnant dragon look tame.

The silence stretched for a few more minutes, before one of Lucius' business associates approached us and began discussing the dealings of the Malfoys in real estate for the past month. Apparently, their holdings were widespread and Narcissa had been managing them during Lucius' tenure in Azkaban. Malfoy maintained his calm during the conversation, his stance spoke volumes of his apathy, but the mask obscuring half his face was a safe enough camouflage.

While he was otherwise engaged in chatter with the associate, his godfather approached me. The route of his strides was directed elsewhere and had I not been scrutinizing him, I'd have missed the way he had purposely changed direction to the fountain I was standing beside. Malfoy excused himself from the pudgy wizard, now excitedly waving his hands about, to return to my side, sure that Snape was looking for him.

"The young Malfoy couple, what pleasure. The choice of costume is a little paradoxical, though."

His sarcasm was rib-tickling as always. Malfoy, used to the former professor's jabs, merely rolled his eyes.

"Evening Severus," he drawled, casually draping a hand around my waist, the action reminiscent of our wedding, with the fingers lightly stroking my dress. I casually stepped out of the uncomfortable embrace, careful to keep my agitation away.

Malfoy scowled and gave up his attempts at maintaining appearances. If he was trying for a stellar image before his godfather, he'd have to be more genuine.

Snape chuckled, shaking his head, "The loving duo as always. I'm certain the Union of the Wands was right for once. I hear Mrs. Malfoy has applied for transfer to the forensics," he paused taking a sip of the drink in his hand, "How _fitting_."

"Nothing has been finalized, it's in the beginning stages," I spoke up for the first time.

"Your application has already been accepted and I'm surprised you aren't worrying about buying all the books that go into research, what with your, _ahem_, over enthusiasm."

His tone was mocking but Snape was not my mentor in any way and his vilification was of no consequence.

_Nosy bat_

"Any reason that you've brought up this topic for discussion, Professor?"

"You'll be training under me"

Malfoy snorted at this.

"You need training for research? I knew the Ministry was run by fools but this is by far, stretching the limits," Malfoy added his two lines, never satisfied with being silent for more than two seconds.

"It isn't training, per se, rather an apprenticeship under someone with more expertise in the department," I grudgingly admitted.

Snape's sallow face glowed under the candlelight as one of the enchanted pumpkins floated overhead.

"I expect a thorough paper on _Veritaserum_, _Wolfsbane_ and the _Draught of Living Dead_. Bonus comments if you can trace the history, first samples and distinguishing traits of the fumes used to brew each. Be prompt with your presentation. I hate ineptitude."

My mouth hung open while Malfoy stifled a chortle.

"I've not even got the paperwork cleared from the Auror headquarters. I won't start in the Lab for at least two months now. There are three cases I've yet to close. You can't expect a research paper on the first day itself. Isn't an interview lined up before I'm selected?"

"Better early than late. I know you are internally thrilled to be back to your _know-it-all_ ways, Mrs. Malfoy and an apprentice under me has to be at par with my standards. Else, you can kiss the fellowship after the research goodbye."

* * *

I was sure that Snape's assignment was uncalled for and a subtle attempt to bury me under workload was in the works. There was an inkling in my mind that the Greatest Git, Malfoy might have been scheming with him, privately discussing ways to break my back permanently. I had disclosed the fact of changing departments to Narcissa during one of the many riding lessons and like the loving mother she was, she had spilled the beans to her son.

_It wasn't a secret._

Sighing tiredly, I trudged up the flight of stairs, making my way to my bedroom. The hallway leading to it was almost a mile long with large windows overlooking the mountains let in a drafty wind at night. The view in the dark was not as enchanting as in daylight. Dinner had been overwhelming with roast lamb, kidney pie and Welsh rarebit, a few of my favourites making an appearance. Lost in thought, I did not look up and bumped straight into someone. The lemony scent gave away the barrier's identity.

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?"

His bedroom was at the opposite end of the hallway and at this time of night he was usually tucked away in his bed. He was adamant about sleeping on time, never staying up later than eleven. He hadn't changed into the black pajamas and his breath stank of fruit juices and alcohol. A sober Malfoy was bearable but a drunk one-

"What's a little girl like you doing alone in this dark hallway?" he slurred, his head tilted slightly and eyes hooded. The white mask had disappeared.

"Malfoy, you are drunk."

He laughed darkly, opening his mouth, displaying the teeth that hadn't vanished yet. He gave no indication of having acknowledged my comment, save for the eerie laughter.

"Move out of the way, Malfoy, I'm going to bed. You should too."

"Ha, forever the preacher, Granger. Never learnt to shut up, have you?"

A red ring surrounded his grey irises, and I shuddered at the quantity of alcohol he had consumed to make him this inebriated.

"What do you want?"

"What did Father talk to you about."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Answer me, damnit," he growled, "answer the question."

"I don't have to answer anything. We'll talk when you are not swimming in alcohol."

"I'm somber enough. Tell me what he discussed with you?"

"Nothing of consequence," I had begun pushing at his chest, trying in vain to push him out of the way.

"You are a stubborn wench, Granger and nothing good will come of your attitude."

He moved several steps closer, his toes touching mine. His height was a major disadvantage and I had to crane my neck to look him in the eye.

"Don't you dare take another step," I stuttered, ashamed at the fear in my voice. Those fangs were glinting in the moonlight.

"What are you going to do about it, Granger? Summon Weasley with your pleas?"

"Don't drag Ron into this."

He chuckled mockingly.

"When will you stop defending him? He stole Pansy from me. I bet he's happy to be free of a liability like you. Clever little muggleborn, a walking talking encyclopedia. That's the end of your very short list of credentials. You are in no way suited for me. That Pot magic rubbish was flawed."

"I'm warning you, Malfoy, get away from me. Now."

I had drawn my wand aiming it at him steadily. Malfoy, however was least bothered by my action.

"Going to hex me? Do it then, let's see."

I was cursing the person who had fed him alcohol, for I was certain that Malfoy rarely drank on his own. He hated loosing control like this and in front of me no less. His nose was almost touching mine and without a thought I raised my wand to utter the first spell that came to my mind.

"_Stupe_-"

Cold lips clashed with mine, sharp teeth piercing the tender skin. At my whimper, the fangs disappeared and a fruity taste invaded my mouth. Belatedly, I realized that Malfoy had begun kissing me, his tongue breaching the seal of my lips. I struggled under him, trying to knee him where it hurt the most and free myself of the vice grip on my waist. He effectively blocked my knee and put in a leg between mine. The tentative hold from the evening had dissipated to be replaced by a tight grip. The heady taste of champagne and firewhiskey clouded my mind and unknowingly I opened my mouth. His hold on my waist relaxed and the fingers began their painfully addicting caress. His tongue became insistent in its battle and my hands wound round his neck playing with the baby soft hair at the base. His fringe fluttered in the wind and brushed my temple teasingly. I clung to him, giving in to the insistent pressure of his lips.

He released a soft sound.

The sound was a jarring bell in my head and I pushed myself away from him, horrified at my actions. His eyes were unfocussed for a while but they settled on me and widened to comical proportions, all drunkenness vanishing instantly.

"What did you do, Granger?" he shouted in anger, "What the _hell_ was that about?"

_I did? _

"You molested me, you prat. How dare you accuse _me_ of doing anything?"

"Shut your trap, you-. This is all your fault."

He marched away in a flurry of black, his strides purposeful. Soon, he banged the door of his room shut.

I touched my lips, swollen and bruised, the faint aftertaste of alcohol lingering in my mouth. Before I could comprehend what had transpired between us, my stomach heaved and I threw up on the floor.

_Happy Halloween, Hermione!_

* * *

**Constuctive criticism is welcome. The next chapter is a turning point.**

**Love,**

**SP.**


	17. Hell Breaks Loose

**Disclaimer: All identifiable characters of the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling.**

**I've given up on apologies and promises because I'm bad at both. I started this chapter ages ago, but with exams following me, this has come up later than I planned. The readers who have kept up with me this far deserve a medal each, coz I'm a very lousy author who fails to deliver. However, not all promises are empty and the _twist_ I mentioned in my previous AN is here. It's a MAJOR plot point and I've tried to bring it on as smoothly as I could. The succeeding chapters will follow sooner than this one, as holidays are round the corner.**

**Please do not give up on this story. I've everything planned but time is a very big constraint and my schedule too packed. Sorry. Hope, this chapter gives an insight into Hermione's mind. I'd to alter the usual pattern and this chapter HAD to be from Hermione's point of view.**

**Btw, hope you all lovelies saw Deathly Hallows and enjoyed it too. Now, without much ado, the author shall retreat and let you read the chapter than the rant. Last but not the least, a heartfelt thanks to all my readers and reviewers. Your opinion means the world to me. Truly. As always-**

**Happy Reading! **

**Chapter-17**

**Hell Breaks Loose**

The Dome, as it was popularly known as in the Ministry, was not a favoured warren for many wizards and witches. As ominous in name as in appearance, it was the training hall for the newly recruited workforce. I had had my fair share of excursions to the Dome to not cringe at the mere mention of it alone. Wednesday was the day of _exercise_- a fancy name for the ghastly mock combats organized weekly. The only striking aspect of attending these sessions was the luxurious lounge open at break time. Ministry canteen food was more stale than staple and I'd given up on it after recurring spells of dysentery. Not that everyone suffered the same fate, but I liked to believe that my palate had a mind of its own. Hence, even in bleak hopeless situations of the psychological sort that I had endured since Halloween, Wednesday lunch was a small respite. For the banquet equivalent treat at least.

The main reason for my impromptu decision to partake in the activities organized this week, though skiving off was an easy option, was the ever present tension between Malfoy and myself following the ball at the Manor. The Halloween 'incident' as I had dubbed it my mind, served as the catalyst for Malfoy to transform back into a placid version of his old grizzly bear self; a silent one at that. Gone were the demeaning smirks, as was the drollness and all-round git attitude. Though this metamorphosis should have been an immediate cause for happiness, I found it increasingly unsettling.

A statuesque husband could be the curse reserved for the most unfortunate of witches. He had been tolerable when I could know for sure what that evil mind of his cooked up during idle hours. The silence now could only prove fatal; the calm before the storm.

To add insult to injury, he had thoroughly denied anything improper happening on the thirtieth. Other than a mistake of drunken debauchery, he refused to even confront the issue and managed to almost vapourize on the spot whenever I brought it up. Perhaps unsettled by my persistence, he had taken to ignoring my presence in the house. We would cross each other in long winding corridors in the Manor and he'd carry on undeterred, as though I were merely an ugly potted specimen of rare cactus.

It was therefore, a surprise when he strolled into the room, deep in conversation with Harry. My bespectacled friend caught my eye and beamed. Malfoy looked up at the source of distraction and skimmed his eyes over the hall at large. He might have noticed my presence for he hastily bid Harry goodbye and marched away to the opposite corner to join Tonks.

I gritted my teeth.

"Hey," my friend greeted, settling himself in the cane chair opposite me.

"Hey Harry,' I answered, more out of obligation than true warmth.

"Distracted much?"

There was unveiled amusement in his voice.

"Huh?"

I looked away from the blond bimbo to him.

"You didn't have another fight with Malfoy, did you?" he asked, knitting his brows in concern.

I rolled my eyes.

"Why do you think _I_ had a fight with Malfoy? Isn't he _your_ arch-nemesis? Why are you so chummy with him, anyway?" I ranted furiously, having lost the reins of patience at last.

"Err," Harry stuttered, "Forget I said anything. By the way, seen Ron since Christmas?"

Harry was not quite proficient with changing the subject maneuver. But the mention of Christmas served in his favour.

My favourite holiday of the year had been anything but uneventful this year. With the hag grandmother making a reappearance and my husband attending to her every whim, I couldn't have asked for a better Christmas. Narcissa, the ever gracious mother-in-law, had gifted me a rare pair of amethyst and diamond earrings. Lucius' gift of an yearly subscription of _Challenges_ _in_ _Charming_ had been a pleasant surprise. I had in turn gifted him a rare pair of dragon-hide gloves and Narcissa a black dress robe that she had had an eye on as of late. While Narcissa smiled and embraced me in gratitude, Lucius had barely acknowledged the present beyond a raised eyebrow. I hadn't even bothered to get Malfoy a gift, given the past history of gift-exchange when it came to him.

The rest of the merry day had been humdrum. A small gathering of friends, Ron, Harry, Luna, Pansy, whose presence had come as a shock and myself, had been the sole highlight of the day. As usual, the evening was dampened with Ron and Pansy getting into a fight. Unlike the usual quarrels involving petty name-calling and insults, wands had been drawn this time. They had both been thoroughly inebriated and flooed back to Ron's flat in Manchester to 'settle the matter for good'. Nobody had heard from him since.

I gathered from Ginny that her brother was currently on tour in Greece where the Cannons had a few tournaments with the top all-witch Quidditch team, the _Athenian Angels_. His schedule had been so packed that for the first time in a long while he had missed Molly's New Year dinner at the Burrow.

"No, I've not heard from Ron, Harry."

He leaned forward and when he spoke next, the voice was many tones quieter.

"Do you think he, you know," Harry began gesticulating wildly with his hands.

"He what?" I enquired, still lost in thought.

"Kind of," he raised his palm to his cheek and turned his face from side to side.

"Spit it out already," I snapped, exasperated with the pantomime.

"Slapped Parkinson again?" he whispered conspiringly, "I mean the way they were going on that day, I wouldn't be too surprised."

He stole a quick glance in Malfoy's general direction.

"I don't think so, Harry," I said at last, focusing my attention solely on him, "He was provoked during your wedding and somber. I don't think he'd be mad enough to commit the same mistake twice. Moreover," I breathed, "he promised me to not do anything reckless."

Harry nodded along, massaging his temples.

"These Wednesdays are a pain, Hermione. You'd think Moody would go mellow now that the War is over, but with age, his paranoia has just gotten worse. Don't know what he eats to stay this charming."

I stifled a giggle, my spirits rising.

"You know how he gets. No matter how safe we may be now, the proverbial _threat_ is just lurking around to jump up on us once we drop our guards. Constan-"

"Yeah, _constant vigilance_. And before I forget," he fished inside his robe and extracted a hastily wrapped box.

"Happy belated birthday. I was stuck in Siberia with Simonds and couldn't give it to you in person. Had a blast on the seventh, I hope?" he smiled, extending the gift towards me.

I accepted the package, blinking away the sudden rush of tears.

"No one remembered," I mumbled, "I was detained at the Ministry with truckloads of paperwork. Thanks, Harry."

"Well, that's a pity. I got it for your wedding, to Ron, that is. Would've given it to you come April, but shopping options were slim in frozen Siberia with Simonds on my back all the time. He's like Moody junior. Huffing, puffing and growling. And did I say he smells bad; the igloo was filled with that tobacco stench. Yuck."

Half listening to him, I carefully peeled away the cover to find a crystal ball inside. It was sort of a snow globe, only there were yellow flowers showering instead of snow at the miniature couple inside. A woman with curly brown hair was dancing with a tall, lanky, freckled man with flaming red hair. They would waltz about the small sphere with the man sweeping her into his arms and swinging around. The words _Ron and Hermione_ flashed over them repeatedly. I traced the title over the glass.

It was moments like these that brought out the true thoughtful friend hidden within Harry Potter.

"Thanks, Harr-"

A dark shadow fell over us.

"Potter, the session's underway. Come along."

Malfoy was towering over us, his grey eyes staring coldly at the ball in my hand. Without a thought, I tucked it inside my robe guiltily.

"So soon?" Harry groaned, "Who did I get this time? It better not be some incompetent Hufflepuff like the last one."

Malfoy was looking resolutely at anything but me.

"Tired of the fan club, Potter? But I think its some starry eyed Gryffindor groupie this time around. Must be fun," he smirked, looking over his shoulder at a petite Asian girl sighing heavily and batting her lashes at Harry.

"Urgh," my friend moaned, standing up, "I'm a married man, you git. How about Hermione, Malfoy? Who is she partnered with?"

At the mention of my name, Malfoy turned his back to us.

"How am I to know? Do I look like her _Keeper_, Potter?" he sniped dismissively and walked away.

The insinuation was not lost on Harry, who raised his eyebrows and looked down at me.

"Don't even ask," I muttered standing up as well and moving to the centre of the hall. A few seconds later, I heard Harry's footsteps taking my lead.

* * *

Dominic Green was an obscenely slim boy fresh out of Dumstrang. Why he bothered to travel all the way to England to work for the British Ministry was a mystery. He had run an initial test run by Anthony who had filled his Remark column with the word 'promising'. Like many new recruits, just out of school, Green too was rich in the theoretical aspect of things. He reminded me a little of myself at seventeen. Sadly when it came to field combat, 'promising' was an adjective too strong to describe his skills.

We began, the session, like others in the room, with minor spells.

"_Expelliarmus_," I started.

"_Reducto_," he countered, "_Wingardium_ _Leviosa_, _Stupefy_."

He fired away three more spells as quick recitation. However, not one touched me and his wand merely gave a faint flicker. Dissatisfied with his performance, he tried again, "_Engorgia_, _Petrificus_ _Totalus_, _Protego_, _Expecto_ _Patronum_, _Riddikulus_."

I flicked my wand, "_Expelliarmus_."

His wand sailed towards me.

Pathetic

I stared at him.

"Listen, Mr. Green, it's highly unlikely that a dozen random spells fired in random directions in rapid succession will help you at all in field combat."

His blue eyes widened in bemusement.

"But Mr. Goldstein said that one must be well-prepared when facing a criminal and leave no stone unturned in bringing them down," Green muttered meekly, staring at his shoes.

I rolled my eyes.

"What Anthony implied, Mr. Green is that you should aim spells that actually help you overpower a quarry. Do you see a boggart or dementor loitering around here?"

He shook his head and I was almost certain that he would begin pouting at any chance given.

"Okay, let's try again," I soothed, "And simple spells, this time."

He nodded his head, pursing thin lips in determination. All around us, pairs of Aurors and recruits were firing away spells.

The Asian girl partnered with Harry was actually quite good if she still managed to stand on two legs after a round with Harry Potter. Malfoy's partner, a red-haired witch, though, was not too concerned with clearing the initial _Field_ test. Rather than firing spells, the two were chatting away merrily like long lost chums. She was smiling flirtatiously at the blond, who was least bothered about the excess attention he was getting. Sometime during their _cozy_ conversation, she raised a manicured hand to brush his fringe. He, quick as a flash, grasped her wrist and mumbled something, causing her to blush profusely. The two then returned to their original positions and began the exercise mandated.

Malfoy was still smirking.

I gripped the wand in my hand tighter.

"Green," I barked, suddenly irritated, "Get ready."

Dominic almost trembled. He raised his wand but was a few seconds too late. The simmering rage within me blasted out at last in a single breath.

"_Reducto_."

Not expecting anything major from my part, Green was momentarily taken aback by the force of the spell. The Dome was padded on all sides to prevent injuries, even the ceiling. However, the poor boy banged his head several times around the suspended balls of light. He knocked his temple against a particularly large orb and collapsed in a mess on the floor.

The entire room was suddenly silent. The cacophony of sounds reduced to pin drop silence.

I stared at my charge lying unconscious on the floor, blinking several times.

"_MALFOY_!" snarled Moody, "What in the name of _effing blazes_ are you trying to do?"

I raised my head to gape at husband dearest, who in turn was gawking at Mad-Eye.

"This isn't the venting ground for your girly mood swings," he continued, stalking towards me.

It was then, I realized, that the Malfoy addressed thus was myself. As though woken up from a trance, I raced over to Green's side, who was lying motionless, surrounded by many of the newbie Aurors. The red-haired witch, Malfoy's partner was peering down curiously, while tightly wound around the blond's arm.

"Iz hee dead?" she whispered loudly to the silent room.

_French. Wonderful. _

Malfoy rolled his eyes, snatched away his arm and stalked off to the adjoined Lounge.

"Clear up, Malfoy," Moody growled from behind me, "I do not have the patience to deal with accidents this early in the morning and next time, remember that blasting away your charge across a fifty feet room does not fall under the definition of _mild_. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," I mumbled weakly levitating Green.

I caught Harry's eye, who raised his eyebrows and mouthed, "Later."

Sighing tiredly, I made my way to the exit, knocking aside the re-headed bint, who was still gaping like a fish.

_Chimps, the whole lot of them. Utter chimps._

_

* * *

_

St. Mungo's was overcrowded as usual. The sick bay at the Ministry was swarming like a market with Hit Wizards running about, attending to witches injured in a _Fiendfyre_ that had broken out in a _lingerie _shop, of all places. The culprit, some psychotic pedophile had been arrested on the spot itself.

My junior had suffered a concussion and a mild fracture in the cranium. He was admitted to the casualty ward and the healer attending to him warned me that Green would experience hallucinations as a side effect. Over the past hour he had woken up more than four times, mumbling incoherent phrases and laughing piercingly at his own Bulgarian jokes which were not meant for public ears.

Fed up and bored, I left the sick man's bedside and made my way to the office of the Deputy Healer in charge of the Spell Damage and Maternity wing.

Her office door was shut, so I knocked and poked in my head.

"Too busy, Mrs. Potter?"

She looked up, startled, but grinned widely on seeing me.

"Why, hello, Mrs. Malfoy," she greeted, beckoning me to join her.

My own smile slipped a bit.

Standing up, she embraced me in a tight hug.

"Been all right, I hope?" she mumbled over my shoulder.

"Holding up adequately, aren't I?" I laughed, feeling the earlier uneasiness lifting.

She ushered me to a side room, much less formal than her office. She had never gotten over her inclination to the colour yellow and the entire room was just as bright as the Sun Corridor at the Manor.

"You'll have tea, won't you? _Gertuna_ herbs are abundant this season. Daddy's sent us a pack."

"No thanks Luna. I'm on duty and need to get back soon. A new recruit was injured and it was partly my fault. He's in the Casualty wing."

"Ah," she breathed, preparing a strong smelling beverage, despite my resistance, "Let me not be deluded to think that Hermione Granger Malfoy would take time out of her busy schedule to visit an old friend."

I shook my head and accepted the tea gratefully. In spite of my insistence, Luna's drinks worked magic for nerves.

"How was the honeymoon?"

"Pleasant," she smirked, "How was my birthday gift."

"_Snorkacks_ don't exist Luna! Crumple-horned or otherwise. How many times have we discussed this?"

"The amulet, made from their teeth is meant to bring good luck in love and sudden fortune. I'm just disappointed that you aren't wearing it. Or are you?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Really, one would think that after years of negligence, you'd give up. The only other person more stubborn than you is Ron."

At the mention of Ron's name, her features shifted abruptly. Had it been someone else, they would've overlooked the crinkling of her eyes and the dismal pout that graced her lips momentarily.

She recovered quickly enough though, schooling her face.

"So, what's new?" she changed the subject, sipping from her own blue Ravenclaw mug.

I remembered Harry's present and showed it to her, forgetting the fleeting awkwardness from before. We gushed over it for a while and it was Luna, I learned, who had added the showering flowers.

I was just preparing to take my leave, still holding the orb, when her office door slammed open.

Startled I turned around to see a frantic Pansy Parkinson racing into the room, not noticing my presence at all.

Luna froze in her seat.

"They wouldn't do it, Lovegood. Those _filthy_ Muggles wouldn't do it," she wailed, "They said I was too weak to withstand it."

Her hair was tumbling down her face and the caked make-up was running down too. Her cheeks were smudged with black lines from the wet mascara and her lips were swollen from biting them hard.

"Pansy, calm dow-"

"_I'LL NOT CALM DOWN!_ My life is over. And what will I tell Draco?" she sobbed earnestly, fat tears sliding down her cheeks, "How will I ever look at him again. Oh Merlin, my life's finished."

She rushed to Luna's side, grabbing her wrists tightly.

"You have to help me! You have to _save_ me. _Please_. You are my last hope please. You can't let anyone know."

"Listen Pan-"

"No, you have to do it, _please_. Tell me you'll do it!"

Parkinson was shaking with suppressed sobs and even I felt pity for her.

"I told you Pansy, that these sorts of things are registered at the Ministry-"

"NO! You can't let that happen. You are Potter's wife. Maybe you can stop it if you-" she shook her head vigorously and finally, _finally_, saw me.

She broke off abruptly, staring at me with wide fearful eyes.

"Granger."

"Morning Parkinson," I greeted, trying to be polite.

She took a wad of tissue from her bag and moped her wet cheeks. Still shielding her eyes from me timidly, she whispered something to Luna, who frowned.

Having recovered from her theatrics, she made her way to the door, still not looking at me. It was as though my presence had been the stimulus to shut off her emotion centre. Yet, she couldn't stop the trembling of her lips as she closed the door softly behind her.

There was complete silence for a few minutes.

"Woah, that was dramatic," I breathed, "What's wrong with her?"

Luna fidgeted with her mug, looking away from my curious eyes.

At her muteness, I probed, "Is she ill?"

"Um, yeah, sort of," my friend mumbled, still staring at the table.

"What is it?" I asked, getting impatient.

"She's ill."

"Yeah, I gathered that much. Why is she visiting you, though? There are plenty of other healers she could talk to."

"You really don't know?" she whispered, a sliver of surprise slipping into her voice, "But I thought the ceremony would warn everyone of the change."

"Change?"

My heart leapt and a faint dizziness overcame me.

"Yeah, she, Hermione, I'm sorry but she-"

"She what?"

"I don't think I should be the one to tell you. She wanted confidence."

She had begun wringing her hands.

"Are you my friend or hers? And what change is this that you are talking about?"

"She- Really, you'll come to know soon though-" she seemed to be talking to herself.

"Luna, what is the matter? Just tell me!"

She dropped her face into her hands, sighing heavily. Then, looking straight at me, she mumbled, "Pansy's with child."

A faint buzzing filled my ears. An image of Malfoy dancing with Pansy at Harry's wedding jumped to the forefront of my mind- his hands caressing her sides, over the beautiful dress she wore then. This was replaced by another image of them kissing in the garden of the Burrow when the entire marriage mess started. A plethora of reflections of the past year assaulted me, too quick to process- Pansy in her wedding dress, smiling at Malfoy, Pansy hugging him tightly at the _Storm_ on his birthday, her brooch that he wore almost everyday with pride, she, rushing to him when Ron slapped her and him, comforting her, hugging her, whispering affectionately into her ear.

I sagged in the chair, trying valiantly to stop the hammering in my chest.

"She _cheated _on Ron? How could she ever do such a thing? She could have just consorted with Malfoy in public, uncaring of the consequences," I laughed hollowly, a foreign sound, "Why drag us into this mess? He talks about _Malfoy morals _all the time! And look at what he's done. There goes the righteousness. Hah! Family name, honour, what the hell was I thinking? The conniving, evil-"

Luna grasped my shoulder. I didn't realize that she had left her seat to stand beside me. Her eyes were swimming with confusion, brows knitted in a hard frown.

I desperately tried to quell the tears that threatened to flow.

"Hermione," she whispered, "It isn't Malfoy. The kid is Ron's."

My heart stopped and the last I remembered before falling down into an abyss of darkness was the sound of crystal breaking, yellow florets filling my last coherent thought.


End file.
